Eternity
by The Silver Trumpet
Summary: Diaval is wounded, leaving him with a permanent disability. Maleficent swears to heal him, but a cure is not easy to come by, and tensions with the human kingdom are always on the rise. Eventual Maleval.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, everyone! This is the first chapter of my newest multi-chapter fic. Not much to say about it, really. I just wanted to give (I'm going to misspell this) Anisgilos aka Anonymousse a big shout-out for following and reviewing all of my stories. :3 The robot writer would like to give her cookies. Also, if anyone is looking to join a Maleficent RP forum, please drop me a PM! I know of two that could use members!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Happy tales!**

* * *

Diaval tore through the bushes rapidly. If he had been thinking rationally, he would have been cursing his human body that took away his ability to escape from his predator, but he was not thinking rationally. He was not thinking at all. Instead, he was repeating one thought over and over in his head: _Find mistress_.

The dogs (how many were there? Five? Eight?) grew ever nearer with their saliva-filled jaws dribbling and tearing ever closer to him. Terror kept his heart alive while he neared the thorn barrier. Why had she left him in this form? It didn't matter. If he didn't change directions he would soon be cornered. If he didn't find an escape he would soon be mauled. But he couldn't tell his legs to stop tearing forward.

"Maleficent!" he shouted, using her given name for the first time since he could remember. "Maleficent, help me!" She could fight them. She could scare them away. He was powerless. Where was his mistress?

He heard the dog lunge before he felt the fangs embed in his calf. Then, he was no longer running. He nose-dived toward the ground. They were on top of him in an instant, ripping, scratching, and tearing at his flesh. He stupidly rolled onto his back to try to kick them away. In a flurry of white fur, one of them dove at his throat. He ducked just quickly enough for it to instead latch onto his face. Blood streamed into his eyes. Then claws scored across his eyes repeatedly. He screamed and thrashed against it.

He rolled onto all fours and tried to crawl away. He couldn't see. His head collided with something hard and rough—a tree, perhaps? "Maleficent!" he cried thickly. "Help, please!" Another dog landed on his back. The air whooshed out of his lungs and his arms gave out. He tucked his knees up to his chest and tried to make himself as small as possible. They were biting, gnawing, intent on their kill, when the first squealed from a sharp stinging hex.

"Be gone!" Maleficent was running. She couldn't ever remember running on foot before. She had walked quickly, certainly, but speed was for winged creatures. But not now. Now she was sprinting toward her servant, who was being mauled by some loose farmers' dogs. In one sweep of her staff, the largest, a black and tan shepherd, was knocked away. "Get off him!" She jabbed at a white dog's skull. It bolted after its alpha. "Go!" The fourth dog pelted into the undergrowth after its pack.

She knelt beside the raven. "Diaval?" she murmured. She gently rolled him onto his back. His tunic was torn to shreds; she pulled its remnants away to examine his tattered chest. Puncture wounds and gashes littered him. Blood oozed from each of them. "Lie still." She touched each of them and watched them knit together. Many of them left angry, red scars that would hurt for several more days.

She turned her attention to the defensive wounds littering his arms. With a few muttered words, they, too, began to heal. Then she looked to his torn face. The blood was too thick around his eyes to even see where the wounds were. She tore off a strip of her gown and carefully wiped it away. He moaned. "I know, I know. I'm trying." She examined the scratches across his eyelids where the beast had scored its claws repeatedly. The flesh mended quickly, but left thick, angry scars across both eyes. "Diaval, you need to open your eyes now." Her voice was low and urgent.

He complied. His eyes automatically began to tear at the hot fire that flowed through them. "Burns," he whispered hoarsely.

She bit her tongue to keep from crying out. His coal black eyes were thick with blood. "Oh, gods," she mumbled. He blinked quickly several times, and the blood seeped out of them, but the damage had been done. "Can you see at all? Anything?" She waved her hand over his face, but he didn't react.

"No." His word made her breath catch in her throat.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and rain began to tinkle down upon them. She scanned him for more unchecked injuries, but saw none. "Stand up. We need to seek shelter." With gentle touches, she helped guide him to his feet. She linked her arm in his. "Come. I won't let you fall." He grappled at the air for a moment before nodding. Her lips curled downward a bit distastefully; she hated being touched, and Diaval knew that. But his need was much greater than any whimsy of hers.

She carefully bent the thorns out of the way and regretted leaving him to guard the cottage alone. _If I'd been any slower, he would've died_. The thought made her squeeze his arm a bit tighter, and he whispered, "Mistress? Are you alright?" His voice was tentative, as though he feared it, too, would be taken away. He was limping slightly, but not badly. She made a mental note to look at his leg once they were back to shelter from the storm.

"Yes, I'm quite fine." Maleficent used her powers to bend down the boughs of a weeping willow tree. "Sit." She helped him to the ground, where he sat with one leg crossed under, the other stretched out before him. She touched his knee, and he flinched, but not out of pain. With a gentle touch, she healed the bite marks that adorned his calf. They weren't as deep as the others on his body; she suspected that he had fallen more out of shock than out of pain when they attacked him.

He winced and cringed whenever thunder roared through, and his hands made tight fists in the grass. Every so often he would question her to make sure she had not left him, until she took his hand in hers, and he was silenced. It was an uncomfortable arrangement for both parties, but neither complained. Diaval needed her presence.

But his voice eventually came again. "What are you going to do with me, mistress?" It trembled like a leaf clinging to a branch in a breeze. He was frightened. Not frightened of the unknown, nor frightened of his blindness, but frightened of losing her favor. Her still, stone cold heart shook a bit. How terrible—how cruel—did he think her to be?

"I…" How was she to answer him? "I have no intention of doing anything to you, Diaval."

"You're leaving me, then." It was not a question, but a quiet conformation.

Her heart ached a bit. She hadn't felt this ache since she cursed the babe and forced her former lover to kneel before her, to beg. "I will not leave you. It is preposterous that you would think such a thing." Her hand subconsciously tightened on his. Diaval would not be abandoned due to his disability that she had caused.

His lip trembled. She found it hard to look in his eyes, knowing that they wouldn't look back at her. "But I'm useless to you now." He closed his scarred lids and squeezed his arm tightly about his chest as though he were trying to hold his insides together. Maleficent knew that feeling, that utter helplessness.

She cleared her throat. This would be hard to admit, she knew, but she needed to do it. She needed to comfort him. He needed her. "You are not just my servant; you are also my closest friend." She rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand in circles. "I will not leave you," she repeated, just to reassure him.

His shoulders relaxed. His voice was as quiet as it'd ever been as he whispered, "Thank you, mistress." He didn't dare tell her that he returned her sentiments much more strongly than she, and that his foreign human body often had foreign human thoughts about her. So he thanked her, because that was all he could do. "I suppose this makes…two life-debts, now," he mused aloud. "I am quite racking them up, mistress."

"Yes, it appears you are." The storm had faded into a drizzle. Thick droplets occasionally made their way through the boughs of the tree and dripped upon them. Diaval flinched at each one. "Come. We can go back to our tree now." The tree she was referring to was the tall ash tree that she had bent into a throne with an abandoned, decrepit castle behind it. This, however, was the first time that she had called it _our_ tree. Diaval forced his lips to keep from curling into a smile and climbed to his feet with her assistance.

He noticed many more things without his eyes. Every sound, every touch, every scent was a shock to his senses. His mistress smelled like honey and roses. He rather liked it. The rain was much more prominent than usual. The grass and bushes brushed his legs uncomfortably. The ground was more uneven than usual. Roots protruded and seemed intent on bringing him down. "Are we almost there, mistress?"

"Yes. Step up."

His foot fumbled for a hold on the crumbling rocky stairs. He had never climbed them as a man before, only as a bird. Then he was falling. A bit of a stone snatched out from under his foot—he could hear it tumble away—and then her arms were about his waist trying to hold him up, and then he was grappling at her waist for support, and he almost brought them both down before her staff steadied them both. His heart was in his throat. He choked on it. "Mistress," he choked out. He quickly removed his hands from her.

Her hands didn't leave him, though, and he could feel her gemlike eyes boring into his skull, even though he couldn't see them. "Are you alright?" He gave a jerky nod. "Alright. C'mon, just a few more." She had been contemplating leveling the steps ever since the princess had arrived at the cottage (how many years had it been? Nearly nine now), but now it was a necessity. This would be a serious health hazard for Diaval until she could restore his vision. And she would. She would search charm books and healing spells until she found something that would fix him.

She tried to tell herself that her desire to restore his eyesight was only because she still needed him to serve her, and not because she couldn't stand the idea of him suffering. She refused to admit her selfish revelation, that she now had an excuse to touch him just a bit more.

He struggled up the remainder of the stairs, but they didn't have any more falling scares. Even so, she kept her hands close to him, readied to catch him if he stumbled. By the time they were within the palace, the clouds had cleared, and the sun was setting. She pushed him onto her bed. He sat there with a stupid look on his face as her hand left his. His eyes were directionless; his hands pawed at the soft covers. It took him a moment to realize where he was. "Mistress?"

"Here, Diaval." Her voice came from across the room. Fear leapt into his chest, and he stumbled to his feet. "Sit still," she ordered. "I'll be back in a few minutes." He could hear her footsteps fade away, and the fear turned to an utter panic. He was frozen for a moment, but then he was moving. His feet tangled in themselves, and he collapsed on the floor. He didn't realize that he had begun to cry until his cheeks were wet, and he curled into himself to hold in his insides, which seemed to be near falling out from the pain in his chest.

Maleficent left the door and, in a swoop of her hand, leveled the steps that had nearly brought them both down. The stones blew away with ease, and she buried the remnants under the soft earth so they wouldn't pose a danger to any passerby. She turned to reenter and froze at Diaval's position. Her mouth hung open slightly at his vulnerability, his pain. "Diaval," she murmured, coming toward him. Her hands brushed over his shoulders, but the soft touch made him cringe away.

He gasped for breath. He was drowning, drowning, drowning in his own mind, drowning in black water. Air filled his lungs. He almost wished it wouldn't have. "Just kill me." His voice was hoarse and desperate. "Just kill me already." His cheeks were hot with tears. Was this what he was to be reduced to? A sniveling, blind bird trapped in a man's shell? What had he done to deserve this?

She didn't say anything more to him, but instead pulled him up into the bed. He didn't have the strength to resist. His clothes vanished, leaving him in his undershorts. A soft blanket came over his bare shoulders. Then the bed sank beside him, and he became aware that she was lying next to him. His sobs shook the bed, and he knew that she couldn't sleep next to him, so he sank to the floor once more and curled there. What comfort was she? None, except that he loved her. And that also hurt him. Because he loved her, and he served her, he was of use to her. Now he was a burden. He was another weight on her shoulders.

He felt his form meld down to its natural state, and he floated toward her. Ravens couldn't cry. He doubled over into himself while she stroked his ebony feathers. She carefully tucked him into the crook of her neck, and he listened to her breaths level in sleep. Soon, his did as well.

* * *

Her hair smothered him. He tried to caw, but it found itself into his mouth, and he ended up choking. A very human cough struggled from his lungs, and he realized that she had changed him in his sleep. "Mistress?" he gasped once he managed to pull her locks from his mouth and face. His eyelids were stiff from crying.

"Diaval, I just went to sleep," she mumbled. Dawn had begun to come over the horizon, but she had woken after her bird had gone to sleep and operated on his eyes till the wee hours of the morning. His arm was slung across her stomach. She didn't even care to push it off and yawned. "Are your eyes any better?"

He was quiet a moment. "No, mistress." He had no idea what time it was, so he slithered away from her and buried himself back into the pillow. It was quite a bit colder with the space between their bodies, but he didn't dare move close to her again. She sighed in exhaustion and pulled the cover up over him. The charm books were stacked at the foot of her (their?) bed, all read and tried. Short of brewing potions, which could be costly and took a lot of time, there were no magical solutions to fixing his eyes.

His voice ventured toward her again, timidly. "What time is it, mistress?"

"Nearly dawn."

Silence ensued for a few more moments before he meekly whispered, "I need to relieve myself."

She bit back a groan. She didn't want to see him to the bushes just outside, but if he needed to go… Gods. She reached over to grab her staff and pushed it into his hands. "Here. I got rid of the steps. If you need help, call." She had absolutely no intention of getting out of her bed to take him to pee. She knew how humiliating it would be for him. He didn't deserve that.

He rolled out of bed and found the floor with his feet. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he thought. He could make his way to a wall and use it to guide himself to the exit. So that was what he did. The staff was useless as a walking stick—he was blind, not lame—but if he swept the ground in front of him with it, it would ensure a clear path. His bare feet made their way outside, where the faint sunlight warmed his face and the cold breeze chilled his bare shoulders. The ground was dusty. There were roots and sticks and pebble-like stones scattering every which way. It was hard to tell whether or not any single thing was a threat to his balance. He swallowed his fear. What was the worst that could happen? He would fall down, stand up, and either call for Maleficent or keep struggling toward the bushes that he knew weren't too far away.

He walked on with a bit more confidence in his step until he felt the bushes brush his legs. He let out a breath of relief that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and slid his undershorts down a bit to relieve himself. Aiming was, unfortunately, much harder than it used to be, and he ending up pissing on his foot. "Damn," he whispered. He felt dirty, but a puddle wasn't hard to find, considering the previous night's rain, and he quickly washed it away, though he was still admittedly quite disgusted with himself.

He found the stone wall again and ran his fingers across it until he found a door. He frowned. He didn't remember closing the door behind him. But perhaps the breeze had closed it. He wrenched it open and went to place his foot within, but a loud hiss stopped him. He stumbled backward, and his feet left him. "Mistress!" He landed hard on his rump and cracked his skull against a tree trunk. Since when did the palace have two doors? And snakes?

She groggily tripped out of bed and fumbled on the ground before remembering that he had her staff. She hastily strode out of the castle and began to search for her servant. He had ended up behind the dilapidated building and seemed to have made an enemy of the mother snake that had taken residence in the basement. "I'm here, Diaval." The serpent dared to draw nearer. Maleficent waved her hand, and the creature zipped back in the door. It slammed shut and locked. "Are you bitten?"

"No, I'm fine."

She scoured him with her eyes, but his worst ailment appeared to be his wounded ego. And, of course, his blindness, which had not cured itself from his brief escapade out into the great outdoors. She hooked her arm in his and took her staff back. "Up." She pulled at him until he stood.

He winced at the tone of her voice. "I'm sorry, mistress."

"I'm not angry with you." None of her negative emotions—anger, frustration, irritation—were directed at him. None of this mess was his fault; he just so happened to be the biggest victim. But this would not be permanent. She would heal him. Even if it took years for her to find a spell or a potion, she would do it. She would do it, because he was more than her servant. She would do it because he was her closest, most loyal friend. She would do it because of the familiar yet strange feelings that brewed in her chest when she looked upon him. She would save his eyesight for reasons yet unknown to her. This was her vow to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This story is, from now on, going to probably one of the most OOC things you've ever read as far as Maleficent is concerned. It's to the point where I think I might vomit x_x But I shall post it nevertheless. **

**Trumpet owns nothing. **

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**

* * *

Months passed like days to the servant and his queen, who now interacted more like close friends or siblings than mistress and henchman. They constructed a nest by the cottage, since traveling was taxing on both of them, and they split their time between making sure the fifteen year old beastie was still alive and ensuring the wall's safety. Maleficent would spend days slaving over potions, but none of them ever worked. Gradually, Diaval's hope faded, but hers remained, though quite a bit weaker than when he had first been attacked.

She realized that it had been nearly six years since he lost his eyes and more than sixteen since he had become her servant. They did everything together, neither daring to leave the other's side, even though Diaval had become increasingly mobile as the years passed. They ate together, slept together in the most innocent and literal of ways, and they even on several occasions bathed together—Diaval couldn't look, and his mistress had seen him naked before, so what was the big deal? And, though neither would admit it, each had begun to crave the other's presence like a drug.

The raven knew that his feelings for his mistress went far beyond that which she would be comfortable with, but he didn't voice them. He loved her. He loved her enough to stay silent so that he could be near her. But, unbeknownst to him, the fairy was harboring her own feelings deep within herself for the raven who had become a man who had become her servant who had become her closest friend. Together, they reared the little beast from afar, and they loved her from a distance, though each was ashamed to admit it to the other.

Maleficent watched the three pixies usher Aurora into her attic room while the teen protested that she wanted to stay up later to read a book of fairytales that the fairy had clandestinely placed at their doorstep for the girl to discover. Outside, the fairy turned the page of her own book, which was also a book of fairytales, though it was quite a bit darker and more morbid than the one she had given the princess. Beside her, Diaval's head drooped onto her shoulder, and he gave a slight snore. A bit of drool leaked onto her collar.

She gave a wistful sigh. _If this moment could never end, I would be happy forever_. And that was true. In that moment, thoughts of Stefan and his soldiers and their fire and iron banished, she was happy. Her best friend (what a childish term) was with her, their hatchling (dear gods how did this happen to her) under her watchful eyes, the sun setting with such a smooth tranquility that she almost didn't miss her wings (her wings, her wings, they would make this complete).

But all moments must end. Though spring had almost officially arrived, winter's cool breeze was bringing back a chilly reminder of the blizzards they had suffered—one in particular had left them both shut up in that decrepit palace for the greater part of a fortnight, and Maleficent would dare to say that each of them was near the point of killing the other when the snow finally cleared enough for them to wedge the door open and flee into the frigid world. She nudged the raven man gently with her elbow and whispered, "Diaval? Wake up, pet." She liked the way the blush tickled his cheeks when she called him that.

"Mmm…" His eyes opened and blinked blearily, and he still rubbed them even though his vision would never be clear again. "Mistress? How long did I sleep? What time is it?"

"It's just nightfall. You weren't asleep half an hour." She took his arm in that familiar way and pulled gently at him. "C'mon. We need to get some sleep." After a moment's pause, she added, "_Pet_."

"You could invent a worse nickname, I suppose." He struggled to his feet, and, after he steadied himself, she started to lead him toward their shared nest. "A peculiar bird called me No-Eyes the other day. Must've been an owl. They're the only ones stupid enough to think stating the obvious works as an insult." He yawned.

Amusement played around the corners of her eyes. "I thought owls were supposed to be the wisest of birds."

"That's what they think of themselves. Prideful as peacocks and just as vain."

"Sounds about like you, then."

"You know me so well." The ground changed beneath his feet, and he knew they were at their nest. At the time of its creation, each of them had rebuked the idea of sharing it, but they were much too lazy to go through the trepidations of constructing another one, and considering Diaval's habit of grabbing onto her in sleep, two nests might've caused more problems than it solved.

He lay down, and soon she did as well. The familiar weight of his arm came onto her waist almost as soon as his first snore left his mouth, and she smiled in spite of herself. His touch made her skin warm and gave her a sense of safety. Her eyelashes flicked closed.

It was perhaps an hour when her eyes snapped open again. Diaval's hold on her tightened, and he pressed his face into his hair. He often suffered from disturbed dreams, and sometimes he spoke aloud in them, but this one felt different to her, and if she were somehow inclined to guess the severity of his dreams on instinct, she would place this one as much worse than the rest.

She rolled over in his arms, only to have her face uncomfortably squished into his chest. "No. Not her. Me instead." She struggled enough to earn herself a little wiggle room and peered at his face, which twitched and ticked with his nightmare. He repeated that line four more times. "Me instead," he said, again. "Love her."

Maleficent's heart twitched in her chest, and she couldn't help but wonder what his nightmare contained. Was he dreaming of her? No, of course not; that was a ridiculous notion, no matter how much she wished it was true. "Diaval, wake up." It was cruel of her to watch him sleep like this. "Come on, pet. Wake up."

His obsidian eyes snapped open, and he shouted, "_No!_" and shook her. She wriggled quickly out of his grasp and pinned his arms at his sides.

"Diaval! Diaval, it's me." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, taking a quaky breath. "Calm down." Her heart was flopping like a fish in her chest. "I've got you. I'm right here." This was by far the worst dream he'd ever had. She found herself prodding at his cheeks. "You're feverish. Do you feel sick?"

He shook his head and tried to relax next to her. "I'm fine." His arms curled about his chest. "I'm alright." He seemed to say this more to reassure himself. "Just a bad dream. A bad dream, is all." He was repeating things to comfort himself.

She guided a canteen to his lips. "I'm here." He grasped her hand, and she squeezed it. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No, no, I can't—no." He took another gulp of air and relaxed into the nest. He was trembling with fever chill, and she tugged a blanket over him. "It was just bad."

She rubbed his arm until the tension in him had dissipated, and she lay down next to him. "Wake me if anything starts hurting." She knew he wouldn't. She knew he was still awake, but his arm slipped over the small of her back and pulled her, ever so slightly, toward him. She knew that, if he could see, he would be looking right at her, and she didn't dare look to him, because her tender feelings that she kept so carefully hidden toward him were threatening to make themselves known.

She was certain she was already dreaming when she swore she heard him whisper, "I love you," into her hair. Her breaths leveled in sleep, and soon so did the raven's.

* * *

"This will get rid of your fever!"

"It's disgusting!"

"It is not!" she rebuked, thrusting the hot, watered down tea brewed with herbs at him. "Drink it!"

"You wouldn't know how gross it is; your senses aren't constantly overcompensating for your blindness!"

She sighed. "Diaval, I know you feel like absolute shit because you look like absolute shit. Just drink the damn tea." She softened her voice a bit. "It'll make you feel better, I promise."

The fight had been going on between them for nearly ten minutes, and the tea was now not so much hot as it was tepid. His fever had not faded in the night, as she'd hoped, but rather had only worsened to his current flushed, chilled, trembling, burning state. She feared he was coming down with the flu again (that particular tale from two years ago was not something either of them wished to revisit), and she intended to nip it out before it ravaged him again, but he was most certainly not helping.

He finally accepted the glass and slurped at it. His face told his repulsion, but he drank all of it. "Sometimes I really don't like you." His throat was already hoarse.

"It's mutual." It wasn't. She took the glass from his hands and thrust the canteen at him. "Water. Wash it down." He consented while she ran her fingers through his hair, trying to comb it down the way he liked best. It was soft to her touch, and she noticed not for the first time the feathers that were intermixed there. "Now go to sleep."

"I just woke up!" he complained, though he couldn't deny the sleepiness that dragged at his eyelids. "Mistress…" His voice was getting dangerously near a whine.

"Stop complaining," she scolded. She was reminded of all those years ago when she had saved his life and chastised him for his chutzpa. How long ago had that been? It seemed like a hundred years. Sixteen, perhaps? Yes, that would be a good estimate. Sixteen years. That was quite a long time. She imagined that, had things gone differently, it would be about time that she released him from his servitude. But things had not gone differently, and he was blind and reliant on her for survival, a fact that neither of them would admit.

He sighed dramatically. "Will you read me a story, please, mistress?" He poked out his lower lip in the slightest. Human expressions had begun to become more natural to him over the years. She remembered with some fondness the day she had grudgingly allowed him to feel her face with his hands, and he had ended up poking her up the nose, in the mouth, and in both eyes.

"Anything to make you shut up," she whispered, careful to project it so he would hear. She pulled out the book that she had read from the night prior and started to spin the tale written on the page. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Cinderella. And she had a very, very wicked stepmother…" Diaval had snuggled back down into sleep by the time the ugly stepsisters cut off their toes to fit into the slippers. She was glad he didn't have to dream with that morbid image stuck in his head.

She lowered the book back down to the ground and looked to his face. His hand fumbled upward for a moment, and she clasped it. His face relaxed into a smile. Her heart gave a squeeze, and she felt like she could smile back and cry at the same time. She knew. She had—oh gods, she had fallen in _love_ with her closest companion. She had vowed to never do this again. She couldn't love. Love was a foreign thing to her; love didn't exist!

But it did exist. It existed in Diaval, who stayed by her side not just because he had to, but because he wanted to. It existed in their far-off fledgling, who had never met them, but who they both cared for more than was healthy, considering her curse.

_That's a silly notion and you know it_, a voice whispered to her. Another responded, _Diaval loves you. You love Diaval. Love is real_.

Her only problem was that the voices were talking too loud for her to think, but neither was stronger than the other. She felt suddenly ill to her stomach, and she lay down next to her raven friend. With a touch to his forehead, she determined that his fever was cooling. A relief came onto her chest, and she let herself relax into the quieter, less argumentative places of her mind.

* * *

Though his fever was quelled, his lungs still became congested, and for several nights Diaval couldn't sleep for the phlegm that kept spattering out of his lungs. Maleficent remained sleepless alongside him and spent her time reading to him and brewing tea over a fire to keep his fever manageable. When he could sleep, it was tormented, and he often awoke shouting and thrashing. His mistress deeply feared that some strange illness of insanity was worming its way into Diaval, but she didn't voice it. After a week, his illness had left him, but he still suffered those terrible dreams.

"Are you sure you won't tell me about it, pet?" Her hand hovered over a pot of boiling water.

He shook his head rapidly. "What are you brewing, mistress?"

"A sleeping draught. It will make you sleep sounder."

He stiffened, but didn't comment. He had come to dread nighttime and dark circles lined under his eyes constantly. She knew he was exhausted, despite having done nothing but recuperate from the flu for three days. "It's always about dogs," he confessed finally. He chewed his lip, a habit that he had taken to doing when he was deliberating.

"You often talk about a girl."

"I talk in my sleep?"

"Almost every night." She didn't miss that he fails to address her point about a girl, but she didn't push it. "This needs to steep for a few hours. Do you feel up to going to the cottage?" she queried.

He nodded earnestly and stood without assistance, only to knock his head on a tree. "Ouch, damn." He rubbed his head and gave a lopsided smile. She touched his arm fondly and tugged at him, not needing words to summon him. He felt that familiar tingly sensation when she touched him, and he felt his heartbeat pick up just a bit. He yawned and stumbled after her, and soon they were seated at their tree where she could watch and he could listen. His head leaned onto her shoulder. Their fingers were intertwined, as they usually were. "This is nice," he murmured. She gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Do you get bored?" she asked him.

"Not often. Time spent with you is never boring, mistress."

Her lips quirked into a slight smile while she watched the teen girl and "Auntie" Knotgrass argue over whether or not beetles should go in their cake. The princess rarely yelled, but the girl was obviously averse to consuming beetles, and Knotgrass just couldn't seem to grasp quite how disgusting the whole idea of it seemed. It made Diaval a bit nauseous just thinking about it. Maleficent tilted her head back against the trunk of a tree and stared up it. It was a dizzying viewpoint. Her mind slipped away from her, even though her eyes were wide open.

"Mistress?"

She snapped out of her stupor. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Quite. Why?"

"Your breathing was weird. Almost like you were falling asleep."

Maybe she had been. Her eyes felt gritty and rough, and she rubbed them vigorously. Then she yawned. Yes, she must have been falling asleep, even with her eyes wide open and the day still bright in the sky. "I think I must have," she replied softly. His hand seemed larger than usual; as it squeezed hers, it seemed to suck away some unidentified negative emotion in her chest.

He pressed his forehead to the outside of her upper arm in an odd act of affection that they rarely demonstrated so fully. "I dream of dogs, mistress. After all these years…all this time…I thought I was getting over it, when really, I was just becoming more afraid."

"You are no coward, Diaval, if that is the point you are trying to insinuate."

"Am I not?" His voice trembled. She wondered how long it'd been since he'd gotten a restful sleep. "I am utterly helpless to everything. I can't even feed myself without getting confused between food and dirt."

"All the braver you are, then, pet. You are brave enough to wake up every morning and keep trying."

He frowned. "That's different. I have you." She squeezed his hand tighter. _How sweet_. She couldn't decide whether or not that comment should be dripping with sarcasm; it was a mental debate before he continued, "I don't have you in my sleep. Just me and dogs, and I can't ever make them stop."

"Dreams aren't real. You are real." She drew comforting circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. "I am quite curious about this girl that you constantly mention in your sleep-talks, though." She smirked and raised an inquiring eyebrow, though she knew he couldn't see her.

He promptly blushed and turned his head away. "It's nobody," he mumbled.

His whole demeanor screamed out that he was a liar. "That's a lie, and you and I both know it, pet. Spill. I want to meet this girl."

"You can't."

"Why not?" She was a bit offended by this. "Who are you to tell me what I can and can't do?"

He swallowed hard. "Unless you time travel, mistress, I think it would be quite impossible for you to meet yourself." There it was. His grand secret was spread out before her, and he was stripped bare. Now she would leave him, and he would die. He wasn't sure that would be a bad thing, though, not really. He hoped he would be able to see in the afterlife. Death, while not welcome, would not necessarily be its opposite.

She was silent. "Diaval…"

He decided to tell her all of it. "And the king's there, too, and he's trapped you in an iron net and he's bludgeoning you to death and I can't do anything because I'm helpless and I'm blind!" He was near tears; his hand had become a vice on her wrist. "The curse will take effect soon—we've got less than a year, now!—and…and…" He released her. His arms curled about him like they did when he felt broken. "I'm scared."

She touched his shoulder. "That much is evident," she quipped, though his words had shaken her, as well. How could they not? He suffered from nightmares where her—_their_, at this point—mortal enemy killed her. "The wall will stand, Diaval, and we are both safe. We both my regret my actions toward the princess, but the curse will take hold regardless." Her voice was a bit strained. It was hard to admit that they had both become so attached to the girl over the years of raising her from afar. "But we are safe as long as we are behind our wall."

"But we're not behind our wall. We're at this cottage," he pointed out.

"We'll be behind our wall by the time they come for us," she promised. "Come now, pet, you're being paranoid. You are safe."

"My fear isn't for me. No one here needs me, really; I am just another life, just another being. But I, along with every being in the moors, am lost without you. And that, I believe, is my greatest fear." Maleficent hadn't been hugged since she was a child, and she had never been wrapped in the embrace of a blind man, but he threw himself at her and, for a man with no eyes, had relatively good aim. But he wasn't attacking her, no matter what her instincts argued. He snaked his arms around her and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

She tentatively reached out, wrapping her arms around him. It was—dare she think it?—quite comfortable, and not very different from the nights when he clutched her to him and they both slept easier. She had vowed to never let herself love anyone again, but she had grown to do just that—love. She loved Diaval. A few tears wetted her neck. Her arms tightened around him. She hadn't seen him cry since that first night, that first terrible night. Not even his dreams could properly emulate that horror.

Almost of their own accord, her lips pressed to his forehead. "We're going to be okay, Diaval," she promised. "We're going to be okay. Don't give up yet, my pet."

He squeezed her tighter about the middle. He wanted to tell her his great and terrible truth—that he loved her—but he didn't dare. So, instead, he kissed just below her jawline, where he could feel her pulse thrumming beneath the skin. What was this now? Just friends. Just friends holding each other and comforting each other in a tough time. And, though both of them longed for something a bit more, they were perfectly okay with that.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The ideas for this story are numerous! Oh, the places I could go! I was originally intending for this to be a five-chapter fic, but I am currently about halfway through chapter five, there is no way that's happening. Right now it looks like it will end up to be about seven or eight chapters, which is chapter-wise the longest I've ever gone on a Maleval fanfic, though these chapters are shorter than what I usually put in so the word count might be lower. **

**I would like to thank everyone for favoriting, following, and of course reviewing this work! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

"How could you do that to me?"

Maleficent bit back a sigh. She had regretted turning him into the wolf as soon as she'd done it, and she didn't dare reach for his arm to guide him. "You said anything I need," she defended carefully, but if anything that made the hurt on his face worsen.

"Not a dog!" he protested. His arms curled around his chest, and he lowered his chin to his breastbone. "Anything but a _dog_, mistress."

"It was a wolf." She didn't know whether or not that would comfort him.

It didn't. He bristled as she took his arm and dragged him through the thorn barrier. The beastie floated behind him. "It's the same thing!" He snatched his arm out of her grip. "Don't touch me!" he snapped. "How could you? How_ dare_ you? You could've turned me anything else that looks threatening and makes noise, and you chose a damn dog!"

His jaw dangled open to continue yelling, but Maleficent released the girl from her spell. He fell silent at the sound of her feet hitting the ground. He could hear the light pixies dancing about her, and he wished he could see the wonder in her eyes. His anger at his mistress dissipated. Her hand latched onto his arm again, and he let it rest there, pulling him closer to her in the slightest way that always had kept him upright.

"I know you're there." The princess's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Maleficent's grip on his arm tightened in the slightest. "Don't be afraid."

Diaval awkwardly shuffled closer to her and was soothed by the perpetual warmth she gave off. He heard the chuckle come from her lips. He tried to imagine his fading memory of her smiling, but couldn't. "I am not afraid."

"Then come out!" the girl insisted in a way that made Diaval's lips lift into a smile, even though the scent of dog still clung to his clothes.

"Then you'll be afraid." Diaval thought that, if he were in the girl's position, he would be trembling in his boots just by the tone of the fairy's voice, but the girl was unfazed.

"No, I won't." The raven felt her grasp on him loosen, and he let her walk away, preferring to stay hidden if he could. It was clear the princess expected his mistress. "I know who you are."

Maleficent tilted her head. "Do you?"

The girl clapped her hands together in glee and giggled. "You're my fairy godmother!"

From his place in the shadows, Diaval almost fell down without Maleficent's support. His mistress was, apparently, equally shocked. "What." It wasn't even enunciated like a question, instead just a shocked and horrified statement, and he could hear the implication there. It passed between their minds like a shock. Her tone was lined with one question: _What have I done?_

"Fairy godmother," the girl repeated. "You've been watching over me my whole life! I've always known you were close by."

There was a pregnant pause before his mistress's voice—somehow breaking, somehow already broken—questioned, "How?"

"Your shadow. It's been following me ever since I was small. Wherever I went, your shadow was always with me." Her speech slowed a bit. "But…half of you is missing. Aren't you always with your husband? Is he a fairy, too? I know he doesn't have horns, though. Can I meet him? Is he nearby?" The questions were rapid-fire, much too quickly for his mistress to answer. The fairy was instead caught up on the notion of Diaval being her husband.

Finally, her voice came to her. "Diaval, come."

The raven, too, was busy entertaining the notion of being Maleficent's husband when he heard his summoning. He rarely walked without her hand on his arm and her eyes guiding him, but he supposed this wasn't a far distance. One hesitant step after another (and after almost scraping his face on the bark of a tree), he managed to find her side. "Hello, Aurora," he greeted softly, and he wished he could see the fledgling they had reared.

"Hello."

"This is Diaval," Maleficent's voice cut in. "And he is, most assuredly, _not_ my husband." He could almost feel the glare he was earning for smirking.

"Isn't he?" The child was not in the least intimidated by either one of them, least of all Diaval, who smiled softly and had a twinkle in his black eyes, though they didn't quite seem to be in focus. "You two stand awfully close together to not be married. Don't people think it's improper?"

"Diaval is blind," Maleficent nearly snapped at her. "And I am his guide." His hand floated to the scars that stretched across both eyes from the dogs' claws, and he shivered a bit. His mistress's grasp on his arm tightened just a bit.

The girl's face fell. "Oh." She meekly ventured, "Is that why you stopped coming to play with me?"

"How did you—"

"You have feathers in your hair. I just assumed…" He imagined that a blush tickled her cheeks.

His lips twitched in something akin to annoyance. "Yes, that was the reason I stopped coming by to play."

Minutes later, the girl was floating back to her home, safe in her bed. They stayed by the window longer than they usually did, and Diaval listened to Maleficent whisper, "Goodnight, beastie." She clutched at his arm to support herself, almost as though she had gone weak at the knees. "Let's go home, Diaval. To the palace."

"Mistress, it's the middle of the night." Weariness dragged at him. Though they hadn't been to the deteriorating building in some weeks and the idea of a bed was tempting, he didn't feel like doing two hours of walking to reach their home. "A journey for the morrow, perhaps?"

Her voice was as weary as he felt. "Yes," she agreed softly. "A journey for the morrow." She tugged gently on his arm, and he walked alongside her. His hand reached around her waist and rested there. She hadn't mentioned his confessed feelings for her—if that's what they even were—since their awkward hug, which he sensed each of them regretted and longed for once more.

Finally, he spoke. "I wish I could have seen the look on your face when she called me your husband."

"If you could have seen the look on my face, she wouldn't have made that inference in the first place," his mistress teased, though her tone was still dark. Her hand left his arm, and he knew that they were at their nest.

He lowered himself to the ground and crawled into the twigs and leaves. "Something is bothering you, isn't it, mistress?"

"I have regrets, Diaval. They are none of your concern. Get some rest." She sat next to him and touched his hair, smoothing down the ruffled feathers that Aurora had so easily spotted. Combing it was quite hard, slicking it down impossible with the ebony feathers that protruded every which way. He gave a grunt and leaned into her touch, and eventually fell asleep. But slumber eluded his mistress. She read from a book of fairytales—happy ones, not morbid ones, like she usually enjoyed—and found herself lulled into sleepiness. She lay down next to Diaval (_my husband_, she thought with a snort), and almost immediately his arm was around her.

She rolled over to face him and realized that he hadn't drunk the new potion she had prepared for him, after the last ones failed. The sleeping draught was the worst; it had trapped him in his dreams, making him unable to wake until she finally shook him hard enough to rattle his teeth. But he didn't seem to be stirring with discomfort yet, so she let him pull her close. In a moment of tired, irrational bravery, she pressed her lips to his cheek. "Goodnight, pet," she murmured against his ear.

Nightmares didn't shake him that night and he caught up on his rest. When he awoke, he estimated it to be a little past noon from the angle of the sun on his cheeks. "Mistress?" he called out. There was no response. He sat up and patted the nest next to him, but she wasn't sleeping. He felt around—if she'd left her staff, she was off on some private errand and he was to take care of himself—but the wooden stick, too, was missing.

Fear fluttered alive in his chest. Surely she wouldn't just leave him! Not like this, not after these years. _No, I need to calm down. She'll be back soon_. His hands strayed across one of the books she hoarded, and he grabbed it. It was comforting to clutch it to his chest, and, though he had never been able to read and certainly couldn't now, the old book smell mixed with her rose fragrance managed to soothe him. He lay back in the nest and took a few deep breaths, each more comforting than the last.

He waited. He waited for what may have been an hour, or it may have been two, before he began to call out periodically. "Mistress?" He counted to five hundred in between each call. By the time he felt the sun setting, he was near a panic. She had left him alone before, yes, but never without her staff, and never for this long! He was beginning to grow thirsty, and he was definitely hungry, but he couldn't get anywhere without her.

He stumbled to his feet. He had two options—sit here like a duck, or be a brave raven man and go searching for her. The only problem that surfaced was that he didn't know which direction she'd gone, and he was fairly clueless as to which way the moors were. _Oh, just pick one. You'll figure out where you're at eventually. _He headed to his left and walked. He found he could practically bounce from tree to tree. "Mistress?" His foot splashed in a brook, and he almost fell down before kneeling to suck a drink from it.

He rose again and continued to trek through the woods. The birds went reverently silent at his passage. Some recognized him as one of their own, though many just knew him as the queen's servant and blind friend. How many years had it been since he'd flown? Too many. He'd tried, of course, at Maleficent's encouragement, but had ended up with a broken wing and a busted up ego. "Mistress!" he yelled, feeling his heart pound in his chest. If he didn't find her soon, he'd be lost in the woods after dark.

"Malefic—Ow!" He slammed headlong into a thorn. He felt his face rip, and blood slipped from the gash on his cheek. "Maleficent!" he bleated, feeling much like a pathetic lost lamb searching for his mother. "Where are you?"

Footsteps hurried toward him. He tried to remember the last time he'd heard her hurry. "Diaval!" Her hands were on him in an instant. "What happened? Why did you leave the nest?"

He blinked under her touch. "Nothing, nothing happened, I just, I just, you weren't there and I panicked, I waited all day, but you never came back." He winced as his cheek began to knit together in a sting of pain. Then, a sigh of relief that he didn't know he'd been holding left his lungs. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd left me."

"I left the staff right by your side of the nest." Her arm hooked its familiar way into his, and he gave a tired smile. "But I suppose a silly birdy would only check my side, wouldn't he?" she teased. Her mood was much lighter than it had been the night before.

He groaned. "I'm a fool." His hand brushed an unfamiliar substance in her arms, and he jerked. "What's that?"

"It's just a basket of fruit I snatched off of a farmer. I suppose I would be correct in the assumption that you've been too busy scouring the forest for me to have eaten anything." Her voice was strange, almost flippant. He didn't know what to make of it.

"That would be a correct assumption, mistress," he confirmed quietly. "Why are you so perky all of a sudden?" he grumbled, more to himself than to her.

"You'll find out." Her voice darkened in tone a bit, and he didn't question it, instead letting himself be led back to the nest where he ate an apple. "We are taking the beast to the moors again tonight." He nodded in vague agreement. "I wish to introduce her to the trolls and pollywogs."

He almost choked. "You're kidding. Please tell me you're kidding."

"I think she will enjoy it."

He sighed. "As long as my beautiful self is not involved in any of their mud-slinging business. You know, sometimes they hurl stones, too!"

"May heaven forbid that your gorgeous plumage should suffer the touch of any mud, Diaval," Maleficent replied drily. She ruffled his hair, feeling her affection for him bloom at the lopsided grin he gave her. He had never quite mastered that human expression, but she thought his was just perfect. _Adorable_. She thought, in another life, he would have made some woman a fine if vain husband. Perhaps there was a parallel dimension where he was born a human and did exactly that—married a pretty girl and they lived happily ever after.

He finished his apple. "When will we leave?"

"Right now, if you're done eating and complaining about mudslinging, pet." His eyes flashed eagerly. They expressed his emotion creepily well, considering that he couldn't see from them. She snaked his arm into his and helped him up.

Curiosity had been eating at him for quite a while, and he asked, "Where did you come up with that name?"

She went into one of her dark silences that she so rarely spoke to him from, but consented to his will. "Soon after I enslaved you—"

"You did _not_ enslave me—"

"Do you want the answer to your question or not?" she snapped. He fell silent. "Balthazar came to me, and we had quite a row about your services. He told me I was being a petty child, keeping a caged pet bird with clipped wings. I, of course, argued that you were in no way caged and that I would rather kill myself than clip any creature's wings. It ended with him storming off about my misunderstanding his point, and how I was to be the doom of the moorlands." She gave a dramatic pause (really, she used it to collect her thoughts, but Diaval thought it was quite dramatic). "After the dogs attacked you and you could no longer fly, I realized that he was right. That was how you managed to earn that nickname."

It was then Diaval's turn to give a pregnant, dramatic pause. "Oh," was all he could finally manage. Then, he finally burst out, "How dare that hideous tree bastard say all those things to you!"

"Balthazar is classically handsome!" Maleficent defended, remembering a time so long ago that her old friend had been attacked in the same way, but by a very different person. "You can't even see. You have no right—"

"No, he's the one who had no right—"

"What are you two arguing over?" They both went stiff at Aurora's voice. Diaval shoveled his free hand through his hair, trying to make it look presentable, while Maleficent smoothed down her gown and bit back her irritation at her friend. "Who is this Balthazar man? Am I going to meet him, too?"

Diaval hissed. Maleficent ignored him. "Perhaps another day, beastie." The last thing she needed was for her pet to attack the tree warrior, who would certainly deal more damage than he had been dealt, if Diaval attacked him. The bird man fell silent, and as they walked into the moors, she wondered why he was so suddenly defensive of her honor.

* * *

_Splat_. Tension crackled in the air at that final sound, and Diaval didn't need eyes to know that the mud had struck his formidable mistress of the dark of whom he had grown so fond. He tried to picture her face while she scraped mud from her body, and that image brought him to unharnessed laughter. He tilted his head back to cackle like a hyena until his ribs hurt, and he doubled over.

There was a loud whoosh and a feeling of utter icky-ness, and then everyone was laughing. He could hear her satisfied breath puff out of her nose smugly. He remembered the term "petty child" that she claimed Balthazar used against her, and he now understood exactly what the tree man had meant. Bathing was such a chore for him, if only because it required undressing and, even more horrifying for a blind man, dressing. With two angry hands, he cleared the mud from his face and flung it at the ground.

"Sometimes I hate you," he mumbled.

"The feeling's mutual."

The mud fight resumed, though Diaval was in a sour mood for the remainder of the time cheers and shouts rang out among the pollywogs and trolls and, of course, their fledgling, whose mudslinging skills rivaled that of the natural creek creatures. But all good things must come to an end, and after they had tucked the young princess back into bed, Maleficent handed Diaval her staff. "Go ahead and get yourself cleaned up. I'm going to stay awhile." Her voice had a bit of the cheer that it had held earlier when he had just found her, though its flippancy had dissolved into a soft, hopeful emotion.

"Yes, mistress." He dipped his head to her in a show of reverence that he hadn't performed in quite a long time, but she didn't comment, and he headed toward the general direction of their nest; he knew if he could find it, he could locate the water hole from there. It was not hard to locate, and he had soon struggled out of his clothing. He face-planted in the water, though, when his feet became tangled in his undershorts. Curses sputtered from his mouth, and he fought to determine which way was up before he surfaced.

He scrubbed himself vigorously, washing away the dog smell from the day before as well as the mud that slimily coated him. He tore clumps of it from his hair and ripped it from his clothes, and it eventually slid away from him into the water like a bad memory. He then crawled onto a fair-sized rock and wrung out his articles of clothing one at a time. With a struggle, he determined which item was his undershorts and put them back on, but instead gathered the rest of the pile into his arms. That would be a fight for morning.

A broken sob startled him from his walk. "Mistress?" he called tentatively, not trusting his voice to identify her in such a way. Another tear-filled cry met his ears. Then he was running. He was running in a way he had never run before, because blind men didn't run. But with his clothes tucked under one arm and the staff dragging behind him, he ran. A root caught his foot, and he fell almost on top of her, but recovered with all the gravitas of an honorable raven and enveloped her in his arms.

"What's wrong? Mistress, speak to me, tell me what's wrong." He'd never heard her cry before. Never, not in all his—what was it? Seventeen?-years of servitude. And this, this was like her world was crashing down around her, and he didn't know how to fix it, so he held her.

She took several shaky breaths. "It won't—I can't—the curse can't be lifted." Her head bumped into his, and he felt the base of one of her horns brush his crown. "All the books—everything I read—said a fairy can always reverse their own magic, but I—I can't. It's too permanent, I can't undo it…"

That explained her flippancy earlier. She had been celebrating. She had been strutting like a proud raven, because she thought that she had found a solution for their fledgling's terminal curse. "Mistress…"

"Don't call me that anymore, pet."

"Alright, my wife." He hoped it brought a smile to her face, because he would never remember exactly what her face looked like or how it portrayed various expressions. "There is still hope."

She fidgeted in his arms till the one across her chest that, he only just realized, had been uncomfortably brushing her bosom fell away. "No, there isn't, Diaval," she whispered.

"True love's kiss can break the spell!" he insisted.

"There is no such thing as true love. That was why I cursed her that way." She swallowed hard. "Her father knows it as well as I do. If there was hope, he would not have pursued me so viciously, for so many years. He isn't seeking vengeance for a curse. He's seeking vengeance on his daughter because he knows she's already gone, and he's known since the very beginning."

He bumped his crown against hers. "I believe in true love."

Her voice was cold. "You're just a blind, silly bird." Her frozen heart, which she thought had thawed, was hardening against him. And it hurt her. She loved him. But she couldn't, because love wasn't real, and love had never been real.

He stiffened. "That may be so, but I see love more clearly than anything." He touched her hair. "I see it, and I feel it, in you every day. You chase away my nightmares. You protect me from obstacles in my path." He was going out on a limb. "You guide me. You heal me. And I'm tired of pretending that you don't push different spells into my head every night in the hope that one day I'll wake up with eyes that work." He was so far out on a very thin limb, he was certain it was going to snap and he was going to fall, but he didn't care. "That's true love, Maleficent. And I daresay that your feelings toward our fledgling are much stronger than your little whimsies of me."

The limb was breaking. His form shifted to that of a raven. He couldn't count the months since he'd last been like this, but he knew the reasoning behind it couldn't possibly be good. "Be gone," she hissed. He didn't move. "Leave me! Go!" A pain shot through his breast. A stinging hex. He squawked and flapped his wings angrily. "I don't want to see you ever again! Go!" He unsteadily took to the breeze and managed to land in a tree not far from her. "You stay far away, you little devil! Don't you _ever_ come back!"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello! This chapter is short, angsty, and a little fluffy for my tastes. In all honesty, it could have been almost completely omitted from the story without affecting the plot much, but I took the time to write it, so I'm taking the time to post it. It makes up for its loss of length in the sixth chapter, which I just finished. :) Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Reviews are appreciated!**

* * *

Life as a bird was unbearable. It had been three days since he had been honest. He didn't know how near or far he was from their (now _her_) nest, or how much distance was between him and the moors. All he knew was that he was starving, he was weak, and the other birds despised him. He had been knocked out of four trees, and he was certain several of his ribs were broken.

He knew that he wouldn't live much longer, but that was okay. He was fairly certain he was past the age of the average bird, and life without Maleficent was no life. He missed her. Gods, he missed her more than he missed his vision, more than he had ever missed the sky.

It was almost a comfort when the snarling of dogs came upon him. One grabbed his right wing before he could fly away. He heard it shatter. Then he felt it, and he wished for death to come quickly, but it didn't. It instead came along with sides of many broken bones and torn flesh and blood, so much blood, when he finally blacked out.

* * *

She was running toward the sounds of howling before she heard squawks of pain coming from the throat of a raven that could only be Diaval. She was slow. Her legs were slow. Her breaths came in gasps, but she persisted, her staff long ago discarded. Her feet kicked at the two attackers that were atop her pet bird with clipped wings, and they ran off squealing into the bushes.

She knelt by him, and his form morphed into a man. He was in his undershorts, as he had been when she'd chased him away. But the wounds… Oh, his wounds. "Diaval," she breathed. Her hands ghosted at the deep tears in his chest where flashes of white ribs could be spotted.

He groaned, and she selfishly relished in the fact that he was conscious enough to feel pain. "Come to…watch me die…did'ja?"

"Shush, shush, quiet." Her hands danced over his abdomen. Gods, she could see some of his intestines. She shook her head. "Oh, Diaval." A ball of magic crafted itself in her hands, and she blew it there, where his stomach was torn clean open. That was when he began to yell. The magic was burning him, healing him but killing him at the same time, and all he could do was shout until his chest, which was also just now healing, ached and burned and smarted.

When his cries faded, he could hear her talking over him. "Diaval, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you were right. Please, you were right. I was being…" Her breath caught in her throat. "I was being a petty child, pet. Please, please, just get better. Just heal up, and I'll take you home." Her voice softened. "I'll tell you a story, then. I'll just tell you a story."

He faded in and out of consciousness as she spun tales over hours. He almost made it to the end of Cinderella, but he was never strong enough to speak, or to let her know that he was listening, hanging on her every word.

Once, when he awoke, she was curled into his nearly bare body, tracing the scars on his chest, which still ached with every breath. But she was still telling stories. She had run out of fables and was now telling of her childhood, and he wanted to hear those stories even more, so he strained to listen. His eyelashes flickered, as though staring blindly at her would help him focus. Her story wavered, though. "Are you awake, pet?" she asked hopefully.

His hand was in hers. He couldn't speak, not yet, but he gave her hand a weak squeeze and tried to open his eyes, but his lids were sealed nearly shut, so he gave up, content to grasp her hand.

She kissed his forehead. "I never knew it would be so hard to find a blind bird in a forest this size." She had searched for him? How hadn't he known? Of course she would have searched for him. No matter what he had said, she would never be cruel enough to leave him to die. "The little beast missed you, and I had no idea what to tell her." So that was why she had done it, to sate the need of their fledgling. That was alright with him. She was here now, regardless of the reason, and that satisfied him. "Are you thirsty?"

Thirsty? He hadn't given much thought to any of those needs. But his lips seemed sealed shut. He couldn't imagine them parting for water. A canteen pressed to his lips, and they parted in the slightest. He swallowed. He hadn't realized how dry his throat had been until the water slid down it. She took away the canteen and wiped his face with a cool, damp piece of cloth.

"I'm sorry, Diaval," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." Her forehead brushed against his, and he became aware of just how close she was to him. Her warmth danced near him, soothing him, and he succumbed to the weariness that dragged at his mind just a bit too soon to hear her almost inaudibly continue, "I love you, pet."

* * *

When he next awoke, he felt it all. "Oh gods." He could talk. That was a plus, though his voice grated painfully in his throat. His chest ached like a fire. His stomach turned like he was going to vomit, but he couldn't roll onto his side.

She didn't seem to have moved since he fell asleep. "Diaval? Diaval, how do you feel?"

Before he could answer, water trickled with welcome into his dry mouth. "I still…can't see," he tried to tease. His voice sounded like rocks striking against each other, hoarse from disuse, and he wondered how long he'd been asleep.

"You've been out for three days." She tilted another sip of water at him. She was so warm, so near, so there. His head was nestled in what felt to be the crook of her neck, and he felt quite like a new hatchling, being doted on and cared for. Her hand traced the scars on his collarbones.

"Story," he prompted. His voice sounded sharper than he wanted, but it hurt to talk at all.

More water trickled into his mouth. "Alright, I'll read you a story." She turned to one that she hadn't read him before. "Once upon a time, there were two siblings named Hansel and Gretel…" She spun the tale and, much to her chagrin later, did the voices differently for each character. She thought Diaval must have fallen back asleep, but he listened to her intently as long as he could. When unconsciousness finally ensnared him again, he slept to the words, "Little duck, little duck, dost thou see? Hansel and Gretel are waiting on thee…"

It was several hours before he awoke again. Maleficent was curled into his side asleep; her rhythmical breaths warmed his cool cheeks. The breath in his chest didn't ache as it had before, and his stomach wasn't as sore. He was healing. He felt a small, comfortable smile settle upon his face, and he squeezed her arm just enough to wake her.

"Pet?" Her voice was exhausted, but she still guided the canteen to his lips. "I fell asleep."

"I didn't mean to wake you." His voice wasn't as sharp as it'd been before. He gave a soft sigh.

"How do you feel?"

"Better," he replied honestly. "Lie still. You must be exhausted." Her hands were smoothing down his hair, as if he was somehow concerned with the exact way it was slicked back at the moment. "I mean it. Rest."

He could feel her eyes boring into him, and it was brief battle of wills before she caved, conceding, "Alright." His lips curled into a smile. She lay back down at his side, but didn't completely relax, nor did she go back to sleep. She kept her hand on his shoulder, and every once in a while it would smoothly glide down his arm. He remembered vaguely that the dogs had broken that wing, but it was healed now. "I was so worried," she confessed quietly.

"You're not sleeping," he grumbled.

"Neither are you."

"I've slept for days. Your turn."

She sighed. "I can't. The dogs might come back."

"I can assure you, if they come within half a mile of me, I'll wake you," he deadpanned. He caught her hand and squeezed it. His arm was just a little sore. "Sleep."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"I had to fight with four brothers over food as a hatchling. I can assure you that I can out-yes you. Go. To. Sleep."

"I have eyes," she shot back.

"How does that in any way pertain to the fact that I can... You know what, never mind. Don't sleep, if it suits your pretty fancy. I can't have my _wife_ being unhappy." He couldn't keep the smugness out of his voice, though he did regret that last bit at the foreboding silence his mistress fell into. "I jest, mistress," he provided finally.

"I know." But her voice was hurt. "Don't call me that anymore."

"Wife or mistress?"

"Neither."

"How come everybody gets a cute nickname except you?" he protested, hoping to lighten her spirits. He knew she blamed herself for the horrible mess he had gotten into. He didn't want her to, even though a small part of him—the angry, jealous part—blamed her as well. She had chased him away. He, a blind raven, being cast away by the only one who had ever cared for him. But he had also stepped far across their limited established boundaries, and he had said some things that he knew would hurt her. "Me, Aurora…Who gets to give you a name?"

"I have a name. It's godmother."

"I can hardly call you that."

"And Aurora doesn't call you pet."

She was much better at this whole arguing business than him. He gave a dramatic sigh of defeat. "I have been slain by the wicked argumentative powers of Maleficent. Avenge me!" Was that a laugh he heard? He hoped so. If it wasn't a laugh, it was probably a choked sob. He wasn't quite sure which one of those was more likely to come from her; they both seemed improbable.

She asked quietly, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" He lowered his voice to match her soft, low tone.

"You're trying to pretend that I didn't chase you away, and that you didn't almost die for it."

"I didn't almost die," he tried to defend, though his voice was weak, because he knew how close he had been to death. He knew how he had been so prepared to welcome it, and how he had prayed that in the afterlife, he would be able to see again. It was an odd dying wish for a bird.

Her voice was barely audible. "Your intestines were leaking out when I beat them off of you. I was so sure I was too late…" She swallowed hard. "And you're avoiding my question."

"The question does not matter to me."

"It matters to me," she replied. Her hand was about his collarbones again, but this time her index finger wandered up his neck, tracing those scars and leaving goose bumps in its wake. "I will never understand your forgiving nature. I take advantage of it far too often."

"_Stop!_" Her finger halted. "Stop beating yourself up about this." He pushed himself up and hissed at a sharp pain in his chest, but steadied himself against the dizzying head-rush. "I crossed a line, and I hurt you, and then this happened. Those events are not as related as you want to think they are, except that you saved my life again, and there's no way I'll ever be able to repay three life-debts, so we're stuck with each other till I die. Now stop whining, and go to sleep!"

Maleficent paused. Diaval was not typically prone to outbursts. "I don't want to sleep. I'm going to stay awake with you." Her hand was on his cheek. It was warm.

He took it and kissed it. "Of course you would want to stay awake with my beautiful self," he purred. Then, before thinking his actions through, he launched himself at her as he had done so many days before, and tackled her into a hug. It made his healing bones ache, but he squeezed her hard about the middle. He could feel the stubby remnants of her wings poking through her shirt. She was stiff, but under his touch she gradually softened. "I don't care what you say," he murmured. "I love you, and I know you don't believe in love, and I'm sorry if that makes you really uncomfortable, but dishonesty is not in my nature. I love you." His lips were against the hollow of her neck, moving against her skin.

"You are—"

"If you're going to call me a fool, I don't want to hear it."

She laughed softly. Tears threatened to emerge with it. "I was going to say perfect, but that word may apply as well." Her hand fisted in his hair. How was his touch exactly what she needed? How could he soothe her so easily? Why did her heart beat faster with something other than guilt? Why on earth did he love her, knowing that she would never again be able to return such a sentiment openly?

Then his lips were on hers. It lasted but a moment before he snapped away. "That wasn't your cheek, was it?"

"Most certainly not."

He blushed heatedly, but didn't move away from her. "Sorry." He licked his lips. They tasted like apples and honey now. He shivered and unfurled himself from around her. "I am quite the fool." He both desired and wished away her touch. His back ached faintly, and she was soon pushing him back down on the make-shift bed of moss she had managed to organize for him. He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him.

"Diaval."

"Maleficent."

"No."

"I refuse to sleep until you agree to do so with me."

Her will was angrily staring at him through hot emerald eyes, but Diaval was unbothered by her glare, because he couldn't see it. The tension in her finally trickled away, and she relaxed into him. "Wake me if anything happens." Her cheek pressed to his shoulder, and it wasn't until her breaths fanned steadily across his cheeks that he realized she had fallen asleep while using him as a pillow. Soft emotions stirred in his belly, and he stroked her unwrapped hair with care. He wanted, if only for a moment, to kiss her forehead, but decided that he shouldn't push his luck after the whole missed-the-cheek incident.

His hands wandered up her neck and found the base of her horns where they adorned her head, and he scratched around them where they sprang out of her scalp. The texture of the flesh there was different than anywhere else on her body. Her horns were warm with blood that flowed through them. He liked them. Sleep came to him quickly, casting him in comfort.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay, ignore what I said before. I don't even know how long this story is going to turn out to be. I know where I want it to end, but the distance between where we are now and where the end is located seems to grow every time I open my document. x_x Forgive me, readers, for the evil little cliff-hanger I left at the end of this chapter. I must say that I originally had it as one whole, complete idea, but it was far too long in comparison to the rest of my chapters, so I split it into two. **

**Disclaimer: I own nuttin'. **

* * *

Diaval scrubbed a week's worth of grub from his skin vigorously. "My hair is so greasy," he muttered. "Because _somebody_ keeps running her fingers through it like it's a bed of flowers!" he snarled, louder.

Her hand touched his bare shoulder, and he went strikingly still. She never approached him when they bathed, if only for fear that he'd unwittingly knock into her and touch something that he shouldn't. "Close your eyes." He consented. She began to scrub a bar of goat soap into his hair. He didn't know how much space was between them, but he didn't dare move. He could hardly breathe. The whole idea of her being so near, and so naked, and so…ugh! It made him tremble despite the warm temperatures. "Wash that out. And don't get it in your eyes, it'll burn like wildfire." There was the sound of water tinkling as she moved away from him.

He splashed water over his head; he didn't often go under the still waters for fear of forgetting which way was up. Even if Maleficent would never let him drown, he felt she would probably draw some amusement from watching him flounder before helping him. The suds rolled down his shoulders, and—"It smells like honey!" A revelation burst from his lips.

"That's not what it tastes like, so don't lick it," she joked.

"That wasn't my point!" He smelled it again. "I've been wondering for the past freaking seventeen years why you smelled like honey! And it just now comes to me!"

She was silent for a moment before stating, "I will choose to overlook the vaguely creepy notion that you have identified me with a smell."

"What do you expect me to identify you with? I mean, I listen to you breathe, too, so it's not olfactory exclusive," he teased. Then, in a rumbly sing-song voice, he sang, "Your voice is music to my ears!"

She splashed him. "You're going to attract onlookers!" she hissed. "Rinse that soap out of your hair. It'll dry it out if you leave it in much longer." She climbed out of the water hole and sat next to her garments, which were drying on a rock after being thoroughly washed. She watched with mild amusement as he reluctantly took a gulp of air and squatted beneath the quiet waters, washing out the remnants of the suds from his ebony locks. He was under for less than five seconds, but still came up gasping melodramatically.

After he reluctantly decided he was suitably clean, he hauled his way out of the water and sat down. He listened hard for her breathing, but didn't hear it, so assumed he was a proper distance away from her and lay back with his hands behind his head. The sun sank into his skin with welcome warm relief. "I wish every day was this nice." He knew the future days wouldn't be so. Though his wounds were healed, their beast's looming sixteenth birthday approached, and would be there within a fortnight. Even more troubling, Maleficent refused to tell the girl, and she wouldn't let Diaval do it for her.

"Me too," came her voice from a few feet away.

A question left his lips without thought. "What does a woman's body look like?"

Maleficent nearly choked on her shock. "Pardon, Diaval?"

He flushed and rolled onto his side, facing away from her. "Never mind, that was an inappropriate question." His curiosity was not sated, but it never would be. It didn't matter how much she told him, or even if by some miracle in the future she let him touch her. He would never really know what the differences between her body and his own were.

He struggled to push those thoughts away and listened to the rustling of clothing as she put on her gown, and he regretted that his thoughtless words had caused her discomfort. "You best start getting dressed. The beast will be expecting us at sundown."

Oh. Well, that could be a cause for her dressing as well. He managed to pull on his undershorts. "Is this a shirt?" he asked, somewhat frustrated at his inability to identify articles of clothing.

"Pants," she answered. He grunted and managed to find the waist band and tugged them on. He turned his shirt in his hands and pulled it on. "Wait, that's backwards." Her hands helped him turn it around.

"Thanks," he grunted, sliding his arms through the sleeves. She took his arm as soon as he was steady, and they walked toward the thorn barrier, where Aurora was awaiting their arrival.

"Diaval, you're all better!"

"Heads-up," Maleficent whispered.

She stepped away from him as the girl tackled the blind man with a force powerful enough to shove his breath from his lungs. He stumbled back a few feet and grappled at her shoulders before managing to steady himself. The princess giggled. "Godmother said you were awfully sick the last time I saw her. I was worried for you!" Was it necessary for her hugs to be so long?

He awkwardly cleared his throat. So Maleficent had lied to the girl about his condition. He supposed wounded near death was a type of sick. "I feel quite better now, thank you." His arms weren't quite sure what to do with themselves, but they tentatively squeezed around the small of her back until she released him. The familiar touch came to his arm, and he let out a sigh of relief that he didn't know he'd been holding.

"I didn't know fairies got sick," Aurora admitted.

"I'm no fairy, child. I'm just a bird who happened to get stuck in a human shell." He tried to imagine himself as a fairy with large, jet-black wings, and he realized that even his memory of his own reflection had faded. All the time he had spent struggling to piece together what Maleficent looked like, and he had forgotten himself in the process.

The girl pursed her lips as she walked alongside them in the moors. "Is that why you don't have wings?"

Both of them stiffened. She was drawing dangerously near to another subject that, unbeknownst to her, would cause them both a lot of pain. "Yes, we can assume that is why I'm not winged in this form." He tried to make his voice hold amusement, but it had dark undertones. He hoped that would sate her curiosity about the whole subject of wings.

It didn't. "What of you, godmother? All the other fair people fly. Why don't you?" She was so oblivious to the stiffening of their muscles that Diaval wondered briefly if she was as blind as him.

He could hear the pain in her voice as she softly stated, "I had wings once, but they were stolen from me. And that's all I wish to say about it." He wanted to reach for her hand, but didn't dare do so with their fledgling, who seemed to furiously entertain romantic notions between them, nearby.

Aurora was ever trusting and naïve as she began to fire off questions. "What color were they? Were they big?" Diaval was strongly tempted to snap that her godmother had ended the conversation and that was that, but her tensing on his arm stopped him. She would tell the beast what she could tell her. She was strong, much stronger than her friend often estimated.

Her voice was wistful. "So big that they dragged behind me when I walked. And they were strong. They could carry me up over the clouds and into the headwinds. And they never faltered. Not even once. I could trust them." This tiny tale was the most the raven-man had ever heard of Maleficent's wings. She had, over the years, told him little bits and pieces of her tale, and he had pieced it all together over time, but this? This was the first description he had, the first words that had ever been revealed to tell not about what had happened to her wings, but what they had been like. And he was utterly fascinated.

After they put Aurora to bed and returned to their nest, Diaval whispered, "We have to tell her soon." He could feel weakness seeping out of her. "We have to tell her, Maleficent. She deserves to know, and those three nincompoops have done her absolutely no favors by lying to her for her whole life."

"I can't," she whispered to him after a long silenced. "I just…" She swallowed hard. "She is so innocent. I can't be the one to violate that, even if I should." Her head tiled to rest on his shoulder. He smelled of her honey soap now. "You should get some sleep."

"So should you."

"I'll dream." She trembled a bit with the cool autumn breeze. Once upon a time, her wings had kept her warm.

He snorted. "Just suck down some sleeping draught. It really makes things better," he teased darkly, recalling the utter terror that had overtaken him when he realized the potion didn't erase his dreams, but instead locked him there, keeping him from waking. He touched her and identified her shoulder before reaching up her neck to unwrap her hair and horns. The locks fell into his hands. He absently ran his fingers through it, wishing he could braid or do anything useful with his blind eyes and human digits.

He scratched the bases of her horns like he had done when she was asleep, and she shivered again. "Stop that." His hands fell away.

"Sorry."

She sighed. She didn't actually want him to stop. But that place made a tingly sensation run down her spine; it made the stumps on her back quiver; it made her body tense up in ways that it shouldn't around him. It felt good, but it couldn't be right. Not with their child a week from losing her life. Not with her broken heart. Not with Diaval's blindness. None of this could be right. Not even with such powerful sensations wracking her senses. "Go to sleep, pet."

He curled his arm around her; he'd intended for it to touch her waist, but it instead pressed against the stumps that protruded from her back, barely hidden by cloth. He slid it down and tugged her into their soft nest. "Not alone, wifey." She was in a dark mood, and he hoped that dawn would bring some peace of mind to her.

She obediently lay down next to him. She lay on her stomach and he lay on his, and she watched his face while he began to fall asleep. His coal black eyes blinked at her a few times, and she wished he could see from them. Then they fell closed. His arm was strewn across her back, and it curled slightly toward him, bringing them nearer. The scent of honey passed between them, and it lulled her into a peaceful slumber.

But her predictions were right; she did dream. When she awoke, vices were holding her down, pinning her to the ground, and she began to shriek and thrash. "Let me go!" she screeched, clawing at her attacker with her fingernails. "Let me go! Let me go! Diaval!" she cried. Where was he? He had to be nearby! "Let me go!" Her teeth found flesh and they clamped together until she tasted blood. The hands released her, and she rolled away, kicking out furiously into his stomach. Her eyes widened when she turned back to look, to really look, and her form fell limp for a moment.

Diaval looked like he was about to vomit, holding his stomach. Her teeth had bitten into the soft flesh of his upper arm. Fingernail marks raked over his arms, and there were a few on his face. He shoveled a hand through his hair before tentatively calling out, "Mistress?"

She took a few deep breaths to calm her heart and come to terms with what she had just done to him. Then, slowly, she crawled back toward him. "Diaval? Are you alright?"

"You fight like a girl, mistress." Her favorite lopsided grin adorned his face at the sound of her voice.

"I asked you to stop calling me that." She soothed the angry red marks on his face and arms with her touches. "I'm sorry."

He winced as the bite wound knitted together. "You just gave me fairy cooties. I'm contaminated." Awakening to being battered wasn't exactly pleasant, but at least she was nearby. It was worth it, being near her. "My fault," he confessed. "I thought you were going to hurt yourself. I tried to pin you down." His face was sheepish. "What time is it?"

"Nearly dawn, pet." She brushed his hair out of his eyes as though it mattered. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"You fight like a girl," he repeated earnestly. "I am fine, other than the contamination part."

She rolled her eyes at his wit and pushed away the guilt that flowed through her chest. She had more important things to worry over, like the boy on his white horse that was about to pass right by their nest. In a puff of magic, Diaval was a raven. She curled her arms around him and tucked him close to her chest, hushing his surprised caw. She ducked in some thick foliage and watched the young man pass by.

He patted his horse's neck. "Where do you think we are, Samson?" he mused aloud. The beast stomped its hoof and puffed out of its wide nostrils. "Yes, I know we got lost trying to skirt those giant briars. Father didn't tell me anything about _those_ when he sent us out this way." The horse began to paw the ground. "Hey, hey! Stop that! Naughty!" He sighed. "I'm hungry, too. Don't worry. I'm sure King Stefan will have had the cooks prepare a feast with us." The boy was certainly daft, Maleficent noted, but he appeared to be nobility. She tilted her head at him. "I can't wait to meet the princess. Seems a bit morbid that Father signed this betrothal for me, though. I really would have rather met her first, you know?" The horse snorted. "What do you know? You're just a silly horse. Come on, then, we're not getting any nearer to the castle by sitting in one place. Can't say we're getting any nearer to it by moving either, but it's a better shot." The forms ambled slowly away.

A prince. Stefan had betrothed the daughter he had never met to a prince that neither of them had ever met. He had given away someone he was supposed to love—the only one left who had a chance of loving him. And his intentions were to throw her away, to cast her aside. Fury alit in Maleficent's chest, and Diaval gave a strangled squawk to tell that her tight fingers grasping his plumage were uncomfortable.

She changed him back. "Please tell me that all wasn't what it sounded like."

"I think it was." She swallowed hard. "I think it was _exactly _what it sounded like."

"That_ bastard!_"

"I am not quite sure which offending male you are referring to in this situation, but yes. Agreed."

"All of them! The whole lot of the kingdom and wherever the hell that chap is from! How could they—How could they just marry her off? Like she's some kind of problem that needs to be gotten rid of, or exterminated!"

Diaval's voice was getting dangerously loud. "Quiet down, you'll draw him back," she murmured.

He crossed his arms and gave an angry sigh. His black eyes glittered like onyx gems, trouble reflecting there. So this was what it was to be. His fledgling was mortally cursed. If she were to somehow circumvent the curse, she was to be married to a man she had not met and shipped away to gods knew where. They couldn't win for losing. "She's just a child," he whispered brokenly.

Gold and pink streaked the sky with dawn. "I know." She took his arm and began to lead him through the trees. "I have some explaining to do." She would not—absolutely would _not_—let Stefan marry off her little beastie. That bastard would not take away the one person who possessed her heart. If the curse could be circumvented (which she knew it couldn't, which made her wonder why she was pondering all of this), she was going to stay in the moors as long as Maleficent could make her, protected.

Her eyes scanned up and down Diaval. Explaining this whole mess—the curse, her heritage (damn those pixies for lying to her entire life), the whole story of a lifetime—would be hard. But she needed to be the one to do it. Wispy yellow magic changed his form, and he perched on her arm without complaint. She scratched at the base of his spine where she knew he loved, and it elicited a purr from his throat. "Let's go find our little beast, pet." He rested his dark head against her. His beady eyes were unseeing, but still keen. "Clever bird."

He didn't know what he had done to deserve her praise, but he had dearly missed the sensation of her fingers running through his plumage. She was warm, and her gait swayed quickly beneath him as she sought out their fledgling. Her body was soft against him. Comfortable. He wondered why they didn't do this more often. Being carried around was quite fun, he thought.

Soon they found the princess, and they headed to the moors. Diaval proudly preened his feathers after being fondly referred to as "my pretty bird", and Maleficent let him perch on her knee while Aurora greeted one of the various flying creatures that called the moors home. He fell stagnant, though, when his mistress's voice came from her chest. "Aurora, come here."

Her fingers began to ruffle the feathers on his back again, and he purred, hoping to calm her. He could hear the girl approach, listened to the rustling of her clothing as she sat next to Maleficent. He felt her heartbeat pick up a bit. Nerves. He nuzzled her hand with his head, and she scratched the feathers about his scruff. Her voice came once again, slowly, almost frightened. "There is evil in this world, and I cannot keep you from it." She had clearly thought this out.

"I'm almost _sixteen_, godmother. I can take care of myself."

Diaval felt her stiffen in the slightest before she resumed stroking him. He felt helpless like this, unable to assist her in any way, before he remembered that was presumably why he was in this form. She didn't need his help. She was strong. She could do this by herself. "I understand." She sounded a bit taken aback by Aurora's determined tone, but managed to continue, "But—"

"I've got a plan!" Her hands clapped together, and Diaval flinched a bit. "When I'm older, I'm going to live here in the moors, with you! Then we can look after each other!"

Maleficent was silent for just a moment, and he felt a tingling wave of relief and happiness pass through her. "You don't have to wait until you're older. You can live here now." Hope. She had hope. Hope that, if Aurora was near, they could somehow prevent her from meeting her untimely end in eternal sleep. He had hope, too.

Aurora began to babble on about berries and black nuts, but Diaval was caught in his thoughts until the girl's footsteps raced off into the forest to go tell her aunties. Magic caught his form and morphed him, and before he had sucked his first breath into human lungs, Maleficent was dragging him up and after her. "We need to follow her." He nodded quickly; Knotgrass was as likely as not to have an explosive reaction over the whole mess, and they should be nearby to…to comfort her? To escort her to her new home? Either way, they needed to be nearby.

The two followed her from a distance. Diaval stayed nearer than was necessary to his mistress, whom he should have stopped referring to as such, as he listened to the girl attempt to prepare a speech for her aunties. "They fed her _spiders_?" he whispered, horrified, into Maleficent's ear.

"Yes," she replied softly. "Hush."

The daft prince that they had seen earlier came crashing through the foliage on his white horse. "Hello? Excuse me?" He approached Aurora, who was startled out of her stupor and quite nearly fell into the stream at the sight of him. They engaged in a quick conversation, but it was enough for Diaval to deduce that they were infatuated by each other.

After Aurora had left, an idea struck Diaval. But he pushed it away. The thought that the boy could be his fledgling's true love was impossible. He let out a shaky breath and rested his forehead on Maleficent's shoulder. Another, darker thought was there, and he dared to speak it aloud. "You said the curse can't be reversed." Her muscles twitched under his touch as she waited for him to continue. "Is it possible that you could transfer it onto another person?"

Her breath hitched in her chest. "It's…a possibility. But there's no guarantee it would work."

"Do it," he snarled.

"Diaval—"

"Don't try to talk me out of it. I want it done." His coal eyes smoldered into hers with a black fiery passion. "Do it to me. Please." His voice had gone ragged. "Do it. Let me help her the only way I can, Maleficent. Please." It didn't matter that he was blind, because his eyes were so intent on hers that she was certain he was staring into the very blackness of her soul. "I'm useless in this world. Let me serve a purpose." His next words were carefully executed, and they stabbed her sharper than an iron shaft. "I beg you, let me help our fledgling." Two tears slid down his face.

She wiped them away with her thumbs. Thoughts spiraled through her head. She wanted to implore him to push this out of his head. She wanted to hex him for thinking of himself as useless. She wanted to hold him for being her closest friend. But all she could manage was a soft question. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"More than anything."

"And if it's not what_ I_ want?"

He laughed through his tears and clumsily buried his face into her neck. "Don't lie to yourself or to me, wifey." His hands reached up to unwrap her hair and horns. "Let's do it. Right now."

She willed her heart to stop beating so she wouldn't have to cave to his will. She wished for death to strike her down on the spot, for Diaval to catch her lifeless body and wonder what had happened, but she was never to be that lucky. The only thing she had working in her favor was his blindness; he didn't have to see the tears she was shedding for him. She didn't have to hurt him any more than he was already hurting. "Okay," she whispered. And the ancient words spilled from her lips. She didn't recognize them until she was saying, "Before the sun sets on Princess Aurora's sixteenth birthday, he will prick his finger on the needle of a spinning wheel and fall into a sleep like death, only to be awoken by…" She choked on her words. "…true love's kiss."

She didn't need to use any magic; sixteen year old green vines of flame snaked into him, and he fell to the ground clutching his chest. She sat next to him. "Thank you," he breathlessly said after a long pause. He leaned on her shoulder again. "Thank you."

For the first time, her arms wandered around him and clutched him. "Diaval," she whimpered, shocked at the vulnerability in her voice. "Diaval, pet, why? Why?" Two tears came down her cheeks. She rested her crown against his temple.

"Because." He took a deep breath. "Because, Maleficent, I love you, and I love her, far more than I could ever love myself."

She inhaled deeply in his robes. He smelled of the forest just after it rained, traces of her honey soap added in places. "Sometimes I really don't like you." Her voice broke.

"It's mutual," he whispered, reaching to toy with her hair. A bit of fear prickled in his gut. "Will I dream?"

"I don't know." She wished she did. She wished she knew if she had just condemned him to an eternity of nightmares. "I don't think so." She could do nothing if she couldn't soothe his fears. "The dead don't dream, do they?"

A distant voice summoned them. "Fairy godmother! Fairy godmother!" They stood in synchronization, Maleficent's arm spun through Diaval's.

"I'm here." She hurriedly wiped away her tears, and they approached her side by side.

The girl's voice trembled. "When were you going to tell me that I'm cursed?" Maleficent sought out the words to tell the girl what Diaval had just done, what act of brave heroism he had performed, but they didn't come. "My aunts, they said it was an evil fairy, but I—I can't remember her name." She stared at the ground, trying to recall, while her godmother could only stare at her. "They said it was…It was…"

"Maleficent," she provided softly.

Aurora's azure eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Is that you? Are you Maleficent?" The woman could do nothing but take a step forward, away from Diaval. The princess backed away. "No! Don't touch me!" She began to cry. "You're the evil that's in the world! It's _you!_" She turned and fled into the forest, back home to her cottage, but not for long. The fairy knew she would run home to her father's palace, and the curse would fail, and she would be unwillingly married off to the prince.

She needed to go after the girl. She needed to tell her everything, from the beginning. She needed to protect her child. Yet she was leaden, because Diaval was next to her, and he would fall under her curse by nightfall. She had to stay with him. She would be damned if she was going to abandon him with his last few hours ticking away from him.

"Maleficent?" He wasn't sure he could trust his voice. "My little wifey?"

She remembered that, once upon a time, she had told him to stop calling her that. But now she relished in it, in the sound of his voice, in the feel of his arm on hers, and her heart was shattering. "Let's go to the palace, Diaval." What could she offer him, if not eternity on a soft bed? It was a small gift in return for what he had given to their daughter—life itself. "Let's go home."

"Of course," he murmured. "Home," he repeated. His place of eternal rest would be in the place where he had first come to terms with his blindness, the place where he had first slept next to his favorite person in the world, the place where the best and worst of his memories had happened. He let her lead him there.

He sat down on the bed, and she sank down heavily next to him. "What time is it?" he finally asked.

"Nearly sundown."

He listened to the clinking of wood. Something was being assembled. He didn't need eyes to know what it was. His finger began to itch and burn. He stood shakily. She was on his arm, breathing softly over his cheeks. Each of her breaths caught. He could hear the restrained sobs there. One step forward. Her clasp on him tightened. A second step. She buried her face into his shoulder, unable to watch. A third step. She was squeezing him so hard that he couldn't breathe. "I love you," he whispered.

There was a prick of his finger, and then there was nothing.

Maleficent caught his body in her arms and let the weight take her down with him. A droplet of blood fell from his finger, and it rested there on the stone floor.

In a flurry of magic, he was resting on the bed. She sat next to him and cried quietly while she combed his hair, smoothing it back the way he used to like but didn't care about after he lost his eyes. She transfigured his dirty, beaten up robes into dark dress clothes, and she crossed his hands over his chest. But then he looked too dead. His chest rose and fell evenly. He was not dead. He should not look dead. She clasped her hand around his and curled around him like the day he had been so gravely wounded because she had chased him away.

He had demanded that she tell him a story then. But all of her fairytale books were back at their nest near the cottage. So she hummed softly to him, hummed a tune that she heard long ago but didn't know the words to. And she fell asleep snuggled against him. She hoped he could still smell the honey soap in her hair. She prayed he could.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I've been writing my ass off all day to post this chapter, because I can't stand leaving cliff-hangers up for more than a day or two. Also, after I finish this story, I promised myself I would do some of my summer school work, which involves labeling and memorizing three maps, memorizing five religions, reading three books, and turning in an essay online two weeks before school even starts. Yay for me! Anyhow, my multi-chapter fics are probably going to diminish for a while after this one is completed, or my updates are at least going to slow. School comes first. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**This kicks off the morning after the last chapter, just in case anyone gets confused. **

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**

* * *

Her eyes opened to the sound of scuffling outside. "That place looks so creepy!"

"I think it's where she stays!"

The male voice cried, "Oof! Why is the bag moving?"

"I think they know she's nearby!" Aurora's voice. Aurora and the prince. "Godmother! Godmother, I'm sorry I said those things! Please come out!"

Her cheeks were stained with tears that she had shed in her sleep, and her lids were stiff from shedding them. A large wet spot adorned Diaval's dark shirt. She licked her dry lips and struggled to part with him, even for a moment. Then she stumbled up and outside. "Beast—"

The cumbersome black bag that the two were carrying suddenly split, and in a burst of white light, her dark wings zoomed toward her. The first of many things that Diaval would never experience alongside her. Aurora flung herself at her godmother. "He's horrible! He's so horrible! He's insane! He's horrible!" she burbled. She tried to compose herself a bit. "He gave away my hand in marriage!"

Maleficent's eyes flickered to Philip, who awkwardly pushed a hand through his hair. "I didn't know about all this war stuff," he confessed. He seemed to be busy soaking everything in.

Aurora looked back up to the fairy, whose wings were as beautiful as she'd imagined, if a bit dirtier than they should have been. But her face was haggard, her eyes red around the rims. "You lifted the curse."

She shook her head. "I tried to revoke the curse several weeks ago."

"Then…how…"

She bowed her head. "It couldn't be lifted, but it could be…" She choked on the next word. "Transferred. To another person."

"Transferred? But, who—Where is Diaval?" It dawned on her face, so filled with hurt and betrayal and, still, underneath it all, love. "He didn't. He couldn't have! No!" she rebuked.

Her insides were falling apart. "He begged me to. He thought it was the only way to save you." She remembered his final words, the last thing he had said before he pricked his finger on that needle: _I love you_. Her mind had been screaming so loudly that she hardly heard it, and it had subdued everything in her head. Even her emotions, which were now a mix of numbness and self-hatred.

"Can I see him?"

"Of course."

She opened the squeaky door to the decrepit building and let in the two kids. Philip did not seem to be as daft as she had estimated before, or at least he was quietly stupid and smart enough to keep his hands to himself. He stood in the corner of the room while Aurora approached the raven man lying still on the bed. She didn't speak, instead just taking one of his hands into hers and grasping it for a few minutes. Then she bowed her head and turned back around. Tears tracked down her face, but she was under control.

She enveloped Maleficent in a hug and murmured, "If you need time with him…alone, I understand."

"Just a few hours to make myself presentable. I wasn't expecting guests."

"Alright." Louder, Aurora announced, "Come along, Philip! I need to show you the trolls and the pollywogs!" She scrubbed the tears from her face and walked away with a wave to her godmother. "Come along, we'll be back later for you to ask all your questions and we can tell our story, alright?" She hooked her arm through the prince's and dragged him out of the castle. The door closed behind them.

Maleficent sank onto the bed next to Diaval's still form. Her wings were filthy. She wanted to fly. But without him? Wasn't he her wings? Her thoughts were muddled, and she tried to clear them. She fought through them one at a time. Diaval took the curse. Aurora ran away. She escaped the castle with the boy who was supposed to be her husband, but appeared to be just her friend. Now they were going to live here, in this place with Diaval's body.

A bit of selfish jealousy wanted to keep him locked away for just her to see. She thought he wouldn't want to be exposed to the public. What did it matter what he wanted? He was asleep. He was immortal now, and so was she. She sighed and touched his forehead. "Pet, I hope you can hear my voice. I wish I could hear yours." His hair had gotten a bit ruffled in the night. She smoothed it back. "I'm sorry I did any of this. I would give it all back just to see your smile one more time." Her hands stroked his cool cheeks. "Our fledgling brought home my wings, pet. I know you wouldn't be able to see them. But I wish you were here to fly with me."

She was silly, talking to a corpse like he could hear her. She swallowed hard and used magic to create some chairs and add two beds in the adjacent rooms. Two beds, because she would sleep with Diaval, like she always had, regardless of the pain it caused her. Then, she reached back to comb her hair—comb it, but not wrap it up and hide it, because Diaval hated it that way, eyes or no eyes, asleep or awake. She cleaned her gown with a charm and did the same with her filthy wings, though she had to beat them extra hard to shake some of the grime off. Some wouldn't come off until she bathed, but she wasn't going to do that quite yet, because she almost always bathed with Diaval close by.

Looking down for a moment, she studied his pale lips. He had loved her. But true love did not exist, and it was cruel irony for her to even dare to touch him. So she instead preened her feathers and wished that he was awake to help her. "It's been less than a day, pet, and I already miss you so much." A loose feather floated from her wings, and she tucked it behind his ear, where its brown stood out from his blackness. Her muscles ached from years of disuse. "They're heavier than I remembered." She squeezed his hand and left him for a brief excursion outside, only to peer into a puddle and examine her reflection. She looked…_okay_. Okay was a good thing to be, she thought, considering that her best friend was currently lying in eternal comatose.

The kids returned covered in slime, and Maleficent refused to let them enter the castle before they cleaned up, so they did. They returned mostly clean, and they helped each other spin the tale.

"Well, first the deluded bastard locked me up in my room until exactly midnight, which happened to be right after I fell asleep. He dragged me up to his hideous study and told me I was marrying Philip today and going to Ulstead tomorrow, just as plain as day." Hatred was evident in Aurora's voice. Maleficent didn't know that her beastie knew hatred, but she did now. "Then he was surprised when I told him no. He started asking questions to nothing but the air, and then he called Philip in. Then he demanded that I marry him or he would disown me, so I told him that was fine."

"You're skipping a part!" Philip put in.

"On purpose!" Aurora glared at him.

"Ah, beastie, no lies of omission," Maleficent chided softly.

Aurora bit her lip. It was clear she didn't want to say, so Philip provided, "He slapped her and I stabbed him with this handy knife he had on the table."

Maleficent almost snorted. That bastard laid a finger on her beastie, he got what he deserved. About time. "Continue."

"So, anyway, we all started throwing things at each other until Philip knocked him out with the butt of his own sword." Hm. Perhaps the boy wasn't daft at all. "But his big dirty glass case got shattered in the process, and that was when we found your wings. So we packed them up and saddled his horse and ran for the hills. We were sure the army would be on us, but nobody chased after."

Philip rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding? The general of command is so against the king's rule, I'll bet he was doing back-flips just hearing he was knocked unconscious."

"You have knowledge of the kingdom?" Maleficent questioned.

It was the first time she had addressed him directly, and he promptly turned red. "My father is King Henry's second cousin, so yeah. The queen used to write us letters about how horrible everything was until she died. There were hints dropped that she was having an affair with the general of command, who was the only one who ever dared to defy the king's word." He scratched his head in a way that made him look unsure of himself, though he seemed certain in presenting his facts.

Maleficent nodded thoughtfully, soaking in the information. The boy could hardly leave now; he would be prosecuted for attempted murder if he set foot in any kingdom land again. "Continue." And they did so, spinning their tale and adding little minute details until it was dark outside and they were both exhausted. At Maleficent's dismissal, they retreated to the separate rooms where she had placed their beds and closed the door.

She lay next to Diaval, but couldn't get comfortable with her wings on her back. "You would be laughing at me now, pet," she whispered, and she fondly stroked his cheek. Cool, but still warm. Dead, but still breathing. "I love you too." A sentiment returned far too late. She remembered how, in sleep, he would sling his arm over her waist and pull her close to him. "I'll stay with you for the rest of my life, pet. Here, in these moors, returning to this bed every night to sleep next to you. And I am so sorry that I made this world such a miserable place for you." She reached under the mattress, where she had long ago stuffed a fairytale book. She remembered reading from it all those winters ago when he grew so terribly ill. "I'll read you a story, pet. One you haven't heard before." She cleared her throat and began, "Once upon a time, there was a handsome raven…"

* * *

Days blended into weeks, weeks into months, and months into two long years, until one day the chocolate-skinned general of command came over the hills on his horse and called out into the wall of briars. "I have come to summon our queen, Lady Aurora! The tyrannous king has fallen by his own sword, and the kingdom looks to you for guidance."

So the three walked out of the thorns. The man regarded Maleficent warily, but did not reach for his sword, instead bowing low. "Lady Maleficent. Prince Philip. My queen," he greeted them. He rose slowly. His eyes again danced over Maleficent, as though he feared she would strike him down on the spot, but she made no move against him. "The council has agreed that the crown should not go to another, your majesty. Please, I implore you." His eyes were soft and molten brown. "We need financial guidance. All of our ties with other nations have been severed, and we need a ruler to sign off on our trade agreements."

Aurora was quiet for several long moments before replying, "And if I go…will I be expected to marry immediately?"

"You will be supreme ruler, your majesty. Eventually a marriage and the production of an heir would be…well, _advised_, but not immediately. All we need immediately is _you_, your majesty."

Her lips slid into a frown. "And will Prince Philip be persecuted for the crimes we committed against my father in coming here?"

"Never, your majesty," he promised.

Her azure eyes looked to Maleficent, who gave a slight nod of approval. They danced to Philip, who shrugged. He would follow her wherever she ventured. "Alright. I will return to the kingdom with you."

He let out a heavy sigh. "Thank you, your majesty."

"What do I call you?"

"Seth Slithers, son of Bartholomew Slithers."

"Very well, Sir Seth. Lead the way."

Maleficent watched as her beastie and her prince walked away. She turned on her heel and walked quickly back to the castle. Walked quickly, because she did not fly. She had not flown since her wings were returned to her, because her wings were lying still on a bed never to rise again. Once within the dilapidated palace, she sank down on the bed next to him, and she let herself cry for the first time since he had fallen asleep. "Two years, pet. Two years without you. I miss you, pet, I miss you so much." Her face snuggled warmly into the crook of his neck, her arm sprawled across his chest. She had forgotten any boundaries when it came to him. "They went back to the kingdom today. Stefan is dead." The word rang oddly with her, because death had come to mean eternal sleep to her. But Stefan's body was being lowered into the ground. "I suppose years will pass, pet. Aurora will age. She'll marry; she'll have children." Her voice cracked. "And then she'll die. And I'll be all alone here with you." She sighed, smearing the tears from her cheeks. Then she reached for the worn book of fairytales and read to him.

She was only halfway through her story, though, when she could no longer stand it, and she threw the book across the room. Anger consumed her and ate at her conscience. She paced. She paced up and down and up and down the room, venting angrily at Diaval's silence, until she finally collapsed in a heap in the very same spot he had when he lost his vision. She cried his same bitter tears.

Quiet memories of words floated back to her, hurting her, killing her. _"I see love more clearly than anything. I see it, and I feel it, in you every day. You chase away my nightmares. You protect me from obstacles in my path. You guide me. You heal me. And I'm tired of pretending that you don't push different spells into my head every night in the hope that one day I'll wake up with eyes that work. That's true love, Maleficent."_ She thrashed against its bitterness, unable to chase away her swimming demons. She curled into herself in a tight ball and wrapped her wings about her into a tight cocoon of warmth. She had forgotten what his voice sounded like. She couldn't remember the exact hue of his obsidian eyes. She understood, if only for a moment, how it felt to be blind and to forget everything that seemed important.

In one fluid motion, she was back on the bed. She remembered their accidental kiss, the strange way their noses had knocked together when he aimed for her cheek and missed. Would this be the same? Why was she doing this? She loved him. She didn't think she loved him _enough_, but she loved him, and _he_ thought it was enough. "I love you, pet." Her tears fell from her lashes and onto his cheeks. And she let her lips press to his ever so gently. It lasted just a few moments. She pulled back and curled into his side, utterly exhausted. "I love you," she repeated.

"You too," he mumbled through lips that seemed sealed shut. "Maleficent?" He reached toward her, but he didn't have time to touch her before she was practically on top of him.

"_Diaval!_" she shrieked. "Diaval, Diaval," she repeated.

He fought to sit up against her weight sprawled over his chest. "Are you alright?" He curled his arms around her and felt her feathery wings. "Your wings are back." He rubbed his head. "Wifey," he soothed, stroking her wings while she attempted to compose herself.

She clenched her eyes closed. "I'm alright now," she whispered hoarsely. She was tempted to move away from him, but didn't. She had no reason to be reserved now. Not so soon. "I'm alright now."

He pulled her close with tight arms. "I sense I've been asleep for more than few hours," he observed softly.

"Two years." Her hands fisted in his hair. "Two damn years, Diaval!"

"Where is Aurora?"

She swallowed hard. "She returned to the kingdom just today with Prince Philip. The king offed himself."

"Alright." He swung his legs off the bed. "Who put me in these clothes? They're all stiff and hideous!"

"You can't even see, you silly bird. They're not hideous." She didn't release him from her vice-grip on him. "We need to…I think…" She couldn't finish her thought. To the kingdom? Would they be attacked? "I think this is your day. I'll take you wherever you want to go."

"Wherever I want to go?" he asked sullenly, his shoulders sinking a bit. He'd never been able to go anywhere he wanted before. He wasn't sure he really wanted to _go_ anywhere. He just wanted to be with her.

"Yes."

"Alright." He smiled a bit and kissed her cheek, not missing. "I think I want to take a bath and get my old robes back, wifey." His lips met her cheek again, dipping a bit closer to her lips. "Or would _true love _be a more appropriate name for you now?" He felt her skin flush as he kissed the corner of her lips.

She took his arm. "Call me whatever you like. Let's go to the water hole, pet." And for the first time since she regained her wings, she actually felt like flying.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Whoo! I just finished writing this hideous beast. I'm going to have all the chapters uploaded soon, because once I finish a complete work I like not having to worry about it anymore. :3 I have a little fic dancing about in my head: AU, Maleval (obviously) where all the characters are in marching band. I've never read anything like that *shrug* but I think it would be an interesting idea to entertain. After, of course, I finish all of my AP World History summer homework written work. And of course I'll throw in little breaks to write one-shots, because when I'm addicted to writing fanfiction it's a real addiction and a serious problem. **

**Disclaimer: I own not a single thing, but if I owned Diaval, I would take him to my local hospital to have his eyes fixed. **

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**

* * *

The water shifted calmly around him. He felt strangely dirty, but then again, he hadn't taken a proper bath in two years; while he supposed that she had used cleaning spells on him, there was absolutely nothing like taking a good bath. He stilled when he felt the honey-scented goat soap touched his scalp, and he didn't move while her arms traveled down his back, scrubbing softly at him. Something had changed in her. He could sense that she was not the same person he had fallen asleep to, but instead softer, sadder, and perhaps a bit more broken than before. But he would heal her brokenness and her sadness. And maybe then she would just be soft.

He had never heard a voice more delighted than when she shrieked his name and threw herself at him. He knew she must have suffered more than anyone else in the grand outcome. And all he'd wanted to do was spare her the pain of losing their fledgling, who was now eighteen, who was now queen. He wondered how much he had missed over the years.

"Turn around," she murmured, and he obeyed, turning his front toward her. He rested his crown against hers while she gently massaged the soap into his chest and arms. She smelled the same as she always had—honey and roses. Oh, how he'd missed her. She had been right. The dead didn't dream. It was just any other peaceful sleep. It could have lasted minutes, hours, or years; it seemed the same to him.

His hand found hers and slipped the bar of soap from it. His nose bumped up against hers, and she shifted her face ever so slightly so that their lips brushed. "I missed you," he whispered while she turned her back to him. He found her shoulder and from there managed to gather her hair into his hands, running the soap through it. She was stiff to his touch, but he knew she would deny him nothing. Not on this day. On this day, she was his. But he wouldn't take advantage of her. Never.

He gradually moved down her back, careful to avoid her wings; he knew how awful slippery wings could be. It was bad enough that she had gotten them wet. Feathers could be preened without water. An occasional quick dip was fine, but this? They were going to be absolutely sodden. She wouldn't be able to fly for hours. Which brought him to ask, "How is flying?"

He rubbed the small of her back while she replied quietly, "I haven't gone."

He stilled for two reasons. Namely the fact that she hadn't gone flying for since she got her wings, but also that he wasn't sure of how low to wash her. He remembered vaguely that she was the same height as him, and she hadn't dipped below the water, so he followed the same standards. "Turn around."

She consented and delicately placed his hand on her shoulder to guide him. He swallowed hard and washed her collarbones with care. He went down her arms and her sides. Her abdomen jerked under his touch, and he noted that she was ticklish. Then he lowered his arms back to his sides. "It's alright," she encouraged softly. "I don't mind." _I don't mind_. In another world, or another time, those words would never have spilled from her lips.

He found her hand and put the bar of soap back in it. "I do," he replied earnestly. He had time now. He had all the time he needed to get close to her. It wouldn't happen in one day. He leaned his head forward softly, hoping to receive a kiss. She gave him the soft touch of her lips, and he smiled. He wanted to say three words, but he didn't want to hurt her or force her to return them, so he refrained.

They climbed out of the water together and sat side by side, their shoulders touching, his head resting on hers. Her wing brushed against him comfortingly. "Tell me all that happened," he requested. He reached for her hand, and she let him gather it in his. Her fingers fit perfectly between his, as they always had. Some things hadn't changed.

"Aurora and Philip came to me the day after you fell asleep," she began softly. This was news to him; he assumed Philip was the name of the prince his fledgling had been betrothed to. But he didn't interrupt and let her spin her tale of woe. It was a rather short tale, for spanning all of two years. The only points she really hit on were the day after the curse took effect and today, when their fledgling left the nest.

"Surely more happened than _that_."

"I am sure it did." She sighed. "I never left the castle unless the beastie dragged me," she confessed. "And I am sure you don't wish to hear all the very monotonous things I did with you."

His heart ached for her. He had fallen into a sleep like death, and it was almost like she had done so alongside him. "I wouldn't mind listening." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, hoping to encourage her.

She sighed. "I read to you, and I talked to you until my voice was so hoarse I could hardly speak. Then I read silently and drank tea and fixed your hair the way you used to before you lost your eyes. And usually by then the day was over, and I slept next to you, and each day I hoped I wouldn't wake up again."

"Maleficent…" he breathed. "I can't believe you just…let yourself waste away…"

She gave a bitter laugh. "I would have starved myself to death if Aurora didn't make me eat." Her lips touched his cheek for a brief moment. "I missed you, pet."

He touched her hair. "I also can't believe you fixed my hair."

"Once I got so bored I wound daisies into braids with it."

He choked. "You did _not_."

"Oh, yes I did. I left them there till they died." She clumsily reached for her gown. "The sun is setting. Do you want to go home now?"

He nodded and reached toward his pile of clothes that she had obediently transfigured back to their soft, robe-like selves. He pulled on his undershorts and grabbed his pants. Then he mumbled, "Where did my shirt go?" He shifted toward her. "Maleficent, do you see my shirt?"

"Yes, I do."

"Where is it?"

"On me."

He laughed in spite of himself and stumbled toward her voice. She had not changed as much as he thought. Everything was going to be okay, he knew, when he wrapped her in a hug, and her wings cradled them both. Everything was going to be okay.

For the first time in two years, Maleficent felt the familiar weight of his arm on her waist when she lay next to him. She gave a blissful sigh. His shirt was loose on her, not made to fit her thin frame that had only lost weight over the years. But it smelled like him. Tossing old reservations aside, she rolled over into his arms and curled at his side like she did when he was accursed. Now he wasn't cursed. Now he was here, awake, with her. She spread her wing over his bare chest like a blanket and listened to his heartbeat.

Softly, she whispered, "Your heart beats faster when I touch you." She could hear his every breath, feel the rise and fall of his chest. And, though she had been in this position before while he was asleep, it was all new.

He smoothed the feathers of her wing. "Yes, it does," he confirmed quietly. They quivered under his fingers. He tried to picture his almost-gone memory of her with wings. "I wish I could see them." He felt their rigid but light bone structure, their softness, their largeness. He wondered how much they weighed. "What color are they?"

"I always thought them black before, but they look brown next to your hair."

"You put your feathers in my hair, too?"

"Anything to keep myself entertained. Yes, I did, quite often actually."

He stroked her hair with clumsy hands. Then, slowly, he reached up and scratched around the base of her horns. He could distantly remember a time when she had snapped at him to quit, but now she bent her head to grant him better access. "You used to hate this."

She shook her head. "I never hated it. I hated the way it made me feel about you." His fingers paused for a moment, but continued their scratching. "But I don't anymore." She shivered at it. A sensation came over her stomach and surrounded her, going high and low, a feeling that could only be identified as arousal. She sighed in contentment. "Good little birdy."

He gradually let his fingers slow their probing and kissed the top of her hair, right in between her horns. He couldn't see her, but that was okay. He could feel her and smell her and hear her breathing. She smelled so good. He could hold her now, and she wouldn't let him sleep for too long. After all, now they knew that her kisses could wake him up. He gradually fell asleep with the scent of honey and roses crowding his senses.

* * *

Three weeks passed before Aurora returned to the moors. The two were sitting beneath their old ash tree in front of the decrepit castle; Maleficent had mended the terrible work she did to it all those years ago to make it a throne. It was, again, just a tree as it should have been. Diaval sat with his back to the tree, while his mistress turned mate rested her head in his lap and napped. He still hadn't managed to encourage her to leave the ground—she absolutely refused to leave him alone for more than a few minutes—but he was still working on it.

He heard the approaching footsteps, and his hand that had been stroking Maleficent's hair stilled. He turned his head in that general direction, listening intently. Then, a disbelieving voice whispered, "Diaval?" He nodded. Maleficent raised her head and barely had time to roll out of the way before being trampled by her beastie, who tackled her godfather into a hug. "Diaval!" she screeched and promptly burst out giggling like a much younger, unqueenly girl. "I missed you!"

He laughed and returned her hug, though not as vivaciously as she had given it. He kissed her cheek. "My queen," he teased in fake humility. His mate (he loved referring to her as that now that he was actually allowed to kiss her) sat up and shoveled her hand through her hair, still a bit shocked over being woken so abruptly. She stretched out thoroughly, careful to just barely prod Diaval in the chest with her wings. She watched his face twitch in annoyance and barely restrained a laugh.

Maleficent's grin faded when she saw the smug smirk on Aurora's face. The beastie giggled at them again girlishly. "Godmother woke you up, didn't she?"

"No, it had absolutely nothing to do with her. This wandering peasant woman happened to stop by our quaint little abode and just abruptly decided to kiss me, but she wandered off before I got her name, so if you happen to see her, please let me know." His voice was laced with charm and sarcasm, and Aurora laughed again.

Maleficent cleared her throat. She didn't want to talk about her relationship with Diaval just yet. It was private, personal, between them. But she supposed Aurora deserved to know. "Where is Philip?" she asked, hoping to divert the attention away from her and Diaval's awakening.

"I left him in charge of this smelly ambassador man who wants me to sign a betrothal for my first child to one of his equally smelly children." She turned up her nose. "Quite disgusting place, the whole kingdom. The only half-decent ones are the peasants, and Sir Seth, of course. The council members are all greedy woman-haters who look for personal profit in everything, and there's hardly any food because all the farmers got taken from their jobs to be ironsmiths or soldiers. There's so little cloth, too! All of the useful goods we once had got traded for iron, but people can't eat or wear iron!" She dramatically tossed her hand through her gold-woven hair. "They are all so frustrating and _stupid!_"

Maleficent rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you'll bring them around. And if you don't, Balthazar's army is available to vanquish the whole place at your disposal."

Aurora huffed, "And not a single one of them can sling mud properly."

Diaval nearly choked. "Please tell me you didn't throw mud at your councilmen."

"Not _all_ of them, just the ones in the front row." They laughed softly together. Maleficent's arm curled into his as it used to do to guide him but now did to comfort him and prove his worth to her. Their beastie gave a tired sigh. "Philip's father is very angry. I mean, understandably; he sent him off two years ago to bring home a wife, and instead he committed a crime in a neighboring kingdom and hid away till the present. Either way, he still wants a daughter-in-law." She shrugged. "Because my father's dead and I'm of age, I'm not legally obligated to do anything that he signed for me. But the council is spreading it like wildfire around the kingdom that I refuse to marry."

Maleficent's eyes flashed like gems. "Don't let them talk you into anything you don't want to do, beastie. If you don't like Philip—"

"It's not about Philip. I like him. I like him enough to marry him, I think, when I'm a little older. But I don't want a king." She crossed her arms. "I inherited this kingdom, and I don't want a man—_any_ man—to come try to take it away from me."

They both nodded in understanding, and their conversation moved on to lighter things eventually. And, like all good things, the day came to a close with Aurora heading back toward her people, fully prepared to tell the ambassador to go back where he came from.

Maleficent tugged Diaval up off the ground, and together they trudged back to their castle. "You know," Diaval pointed out, "the other fairies sleep in nests up in the trees."

"Yes, Diaval, I know," she replied drily. "I am content to sleep wherever you are, and I daresay you don't climb trees."

He went quiet for a moment before continuing, "I wish you wouldn't deprive yourself for me."

"I am most certainly not deprived of anything."

"Don't scold me for being a fool. You don't fly. You don't sleep in trees. You hardly ever speak to anyone but me."

She sighed patiently. "Because I'd rather be with you. I don't stay with you because I feel obligated to; I stay with you because I want and need you with me." Her lips fluttered close, but then opened again. "And I will only fly the day you can do so alongside me, pet." She had thought, when he was cursed, that she couldn't fly because he was her wings and her wings were asleep. But now she knew that that wasn't it at all; she couldn't fly because she needed him to be with her. After so many long years of guiding him, she couldn't imagine a world or a sky without him by her side.

He looked angry and hurt, but said nothing. Once he crawled into bed, he lay on his side facing away from her, which he rarely if ever did. She touched his shoulder, and he shrugged her off with a grunt. She sighed. "Alright, have it your way." She rolled away from him and put her back to him. Gently, one wing unfurled and covered him like a blanket, but neither of them commented, and soon Diaval's snores were audible. She liked hearing him snore. His snore meant that he was in a sleep that he would awake from, and she loved the comfort it gave her that he would, in the morn, be alert and ready to greet her.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I admit, a greater part of this chapter was not originally intended on being here at all, and about half-way through I decided I didn't want it there, but I was too lazy to cut it out and rewrite, so instead I just added some embellishments and made my big screw-up look pretty. It's not like I get paid for this. :) But if anyone out there is looking to pay a Maleval shipper to write stories, drop me a PM!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Reviews are appreciated!**

* * *

Aurora and Philip were married a few weeks after her twentieth birthday, after he proposed that he remain a prince-consort to her kingdom, and he would hold no more power than she wished for him to. She requested that Diaval walk her down the aisle, but he politely refused, stating firmly that he was most certainly not going to ruin her special day by falling flat on his face in front of the entire kingdom. She was disheartened, but Maleficent suggested that she ask Sir Seth to do it, instead. The girl admired the knight the way one would admire a favorite uncle, and each time she came to the moors, she was able to relay to them different tales of the general of command and her mother from before her birth.

Her visits grew few and far between, sometimes with months going between them. Maleficent dearly missed her little beastie, but she blatantly refused to leave Diaval to go visit her. It came to be a riveting point of disagreement between them; after one particular spat, Diaval refused to speak with her until she flew. That lasted until she dragged him out in the middle of the woods and stood several yards away from him for several hours until he broke down and began to call out to her.

"Are we really going to fight over this again?" Annoyance dripped from her tone.

"I am."

Her gaze softened. "I don't like fighting with you." She touched his cheek tenderly, and she wondered if he would give up the fight if she kissed him.

"Then _fly,_" he shot back.

She fell silent and looked away. She wouldn't leave him. She wouldn't fly. She couldn't. "I have already told you where I stand on this matter."

He sat up in the bed and glared in her general direction. "And I have told you where I stand on your standing. It is ri_dic_ulous for you to wait for me to magically wake up one morning with eyes that work. I am _never_ going to fly again. I have accepted that. Why can't you?" He shoveled a hand through his hair and pulled at his shirt, which was covered with tree sap after a misadventure of falling over a pine sapling. He tugged it off, disgusted with himself. He couldn't do anything right. The cool air nipped into his skin.

Yellow magic danced toward him and shifted his shape into that of a raven, and before he could even squawk in surprise, she scooped his small form into her arms and jetted out of the palace. The trees whirred by them, and she clutched him to her chest to protect him from the branches that slapped at her. The wind stole her hair and ruffled her feathers. Then there were no trees and only open sky.

His talons had a vice grip on her wrist. With a grunt, she tossed him forward, away from her. He gave a terrified crow. How high were they? He was close to the sun. It was both cool and warm. He was falling. Then his wings, upon instinct, unfurled. And then he was flying. He flew in a tight circle, unsure of where to go. The breeze pulled on his feathers in a way that was both uncomfortable and comforting. He crowed out to her. She would see that he was lost in the open air.

"Here," her voice summoned. So close, so far. "Come here." He flapped his wings and headed toward her. Nearer, nearer. Her wrist touched beneath his claws, and he gripped it. He could hear her wings flapping dully. She scratched at the place on the base of his spine that she knew he loved, and he purred contentedly. "Clever bird." In one fluid motion, she tossed him out into the open air again.

It became a game of Marko-Polo in the sky, a game of blind cat and willing mouse, until both of their muscles ached from years of remaining grounded, and Aurora's distant cry of, "Godmother!" rose from the ground.

Maleficent steadied Diaval on her arm and dove down to meet the pretty girl who had become a woman. And then her heart nearly stopped. Before Diaval had even completely made his transformation, the queen was sobbing and laughing into her godmother's gown. "Beastie?" she questioned. "What's the matter?" Her pet grasped at her arm, confusion muddling his brow, but he said nothing. "If it's Philip, I can and will torture him."

The young woman steadied herself. She finally managed to gasp out, "I am with child."

Diaval's grasp tightened, and he blinked. His heart squeezed in his chest, and tears budded to his eyes, and he whispered, "That's wonderful," because a whisper was all his chest would allow. Could the day get any better?

They continued to talk about many things—names ("If you name your girl child after me, I will _not_ attend the christening!" Maleficent declared frostily when_ that_ was brought up), dates, Philip's feelings on the matter—until the sun was setting and the chill drove them to retreat back to their respective homes. The godparents suspected that they would not see their beast again until perhaps the spring or summer, when she would bring her infant in tow.

That night, they lay in bed together after sealing everything up tight. He scratched circles around the bases of her horns, and she trembled in ecstasy and kissed him every once in a while. Then, carefully, she slid her hands up under his newly cleaned shirt. "I think we should take this off," she teased softly.

"But it's cold," he protested feebly.

"I'll keep you warm," she promised. She slipped it off of him and wrapped them in her wings. His skin was so hot against her, he almost felt feverish, but she listened to his racing heart and knew that he was just nervous. She traced his scars with her index finger and whispered, "Do you remember when you asked me what a woman's body looked like, pet?" He nodded shakily. "I think it's time you got your answer, huh?"

He pressed his face into her neck, unsure how to explain to her how the fear filled him and chilled him to the bone. He couldn't do this; he was blind, he was pathetic, and he couldn't…He just couldn't do this. "I can't, I can't," he whispered to her ear.

"Shush," she soothed. She stroked his hair. "It's alright." Her voice had become a near croon.

"I can't!" he gasped.

Her mouth brushed up against his. "You can, pet. It's okay." She trailed fire down his neck with kisses. "It's okay, love." She fisted her hands in his hair, and their crowns knocked against each other clumsily. Then, carefully, she began to unbutton her gown. It slid off of her shoulders, down her body, and pooled on the ground next to his shirt. "Go on, then."

He swallowed hard and started up by her bases of her horns again. Her bareness frightened him. His fingers trembled. He drew circles around them and gradually dipped them down. He ran his fingers over her forehead, smoothed her eyelids, traced her cheekbones, kissed her lips. He touched the stiffness in her neck and spine. She was nervous, too. Maybe they weren't ready for this. Maybe they should wait. But she softly encouraged, "Go on, pet."

He traced her collarbones and ran his hands over her shoulders. Down each of her arms he trailed his fingers, briefly capturing each hand into his before running back up her arm. Swallowing his fear, he touched first her left breast and then her right. She stiffened. "Maleficent?" he questioned.

"I'm fine. Keep going." She kissed him while he continued his explorations down her body. He ghosted his hands over her ticklish abdomen and hugged her curvy hips. Then, experimentally, his hands wandered behind to grasp her soft buttocks. He lightly dragged his nails across her flesh, and she shuddered against him. His hand wandered in between their nude bodies and cupped the flower between her legs for the briefest instant.

He pulled away almost immediately. He hadn't meant to touch her there, but she didn't complain or move away. His face warmed considerably, and he fondly nuzzled her cheek. "Thank you," he whispered.

She bumped their crowns again and chuckled. Then, she lay across him, almost directly on top of him, and let their legs tangle together. "My sweet pet." She could feel his heart throbbing beneath her touch. "Don't be afraid." Once upon a time, she was the frightened one. She could vaguely remember a time, long before he had lost his eyes, that he had been unable to touch her for her fear. "Go to sleep, love."

"Wifey," he murmured in reply. He stroked her hair. He was frightened, but he liked this. He liked feeling her flesh against his, and he wished they would do this every day. Part of him wanted something more, but the other part of him feared it. That was okay. He would need time. So would she. And they had time, didn't they? There was peace now. Aurora was queen. The thorn barrier was gone. They had all the time they needed. "My wifey."

She melted herself into him. "Yours," she promised. How long had it been since she had stared at his still body and willed life back into it? It seemed like forever ago, but only just yesterday at the same time. "Yours, forever, pet." Her flesh tingled where it met his. She desired him, all of him, his entire body. She wanted to leave her marks on him. But he wasn't ready for that, and she wasn't either. "Go to sleep," she murmured again. "Go on."

He let himself completely relax into the soft wrap of her wings about them. She was right; she kept him warm. His eyes flickered close, and he felt her breaths fan out across his cheeks. "Love you, wifey."

"I love you, pet." He fell asleep with her across him, and had sweet dreams of honeysuckles and bare flesh.

* * *

Early one morning several weeks later, Maleficent awoke to hushed whispers outside the palace. "Diaval. Diaval, wake up." She shook him awake and reached for her gown. "Pet, get up." She stepped into her dress and buttoned it quickly.

He groaned. "Why…" It was winter; some days they wouldn't rise until midday, when the sun was at its peak and it was as warm as it was going to get.

"Get dressed. There are people outside." She helped him pull on his shirt; he managed with his undershorts and pants. With a quick charm, she unwrinkled their clothes and groomed their hair. Then, she looped her arm through his and went to the door.

Black smoke curled over the horizon. Before her stood a soot-stained, crying Aurora with about twenty odd women behind her. Some clutched infants to their chests while others guided small children by the hand. Some nursed small wounds. One was supported between two, dangling her leg off of the ground, and another was mere days from giving birth, clutching at her abdomen. The queen whispered, "Philip is dead."

Maleficent pulled Diaval out of the way and let the door swing ajar. "Come in." She wasn't quite sure where she was going to put all these people; the only rooms that were cleared were theirs and the two that Aurora and Philip had resided in while Diaval was cursed. But they were hurt. They were needy. And really, could she ever deny her beastie anything? "Diaval, can you walk to Balthazar's residence on your own?" He nodded. She bit the inside of her cheek and handed him her staff that hadn't been used in years. She pushed it toward him. "Tell him to send his army to defend the human kingdom. If you're not back within the hour I'll come searching, understand?" He nodded. She kissed his cheek and let him walk out the door.

She tended to the wounded with care, starting with the woman with the broken leg who regarded her with wary, exhausted eyes. She did her best to soften her voice, reluctant to frighten anyone here more than they already had been. "This will hurt," she warned, waiting for a nod of confirmation before letting her magic heal the splintered bone. The young woman grated her teeth but did not cry out.

One of the infants began to wail, and his mother cradled and rocked him, trying to soothe him into silence. He eventually quieted. Young children curled at their mothers' sides. Some asked where daddy was and why wasn't he with them, while others were concerned about their next door neighbor friends. After she healed the more serious injuries, she headed to Aurora's side and questioned her softly, "What happened, beastie?"

The young queen trembled. "We awoke in the wee hours of the morning to fire. I suspect it was our southern neighbors, after we denied a preposterous underground trade agreement with them." She buried her head in her hands. "They were already in the castle by the time Philip put on his armor and the guards escorted me out. They wanted to put me in the dungeons, where they thought I would be safest, but I ordered them to join the army and I ran here, gathering all the women and children I found." Her lips trembled. "They took everyone. They're all prisoners of war."

"You said Philip's…dead?" Maleficent questioned, trying to let herself picture the man with nut-brown hair and soft gray eyes lying broken and defeated.

"He fell off of the tower with one of their captains. They were fencing, they forgot where they were, and they just…" Her voice broke, and she shakily squeezed her arms around herself. Maleficent curled her wing about her goddaughter and looked to the door, praying that Diaval would soon return. These women didn't trust her. She couldn't blame them. But she sensed that the raven's blindness might let them see that she wouldn't hurt them.

The dark form stumbled back into the castle. Many of the women gasped, fearing attack, but Maleficent stood and took his arm. "Are you alright? Is Balthazar going?"

He nodded and shivered. She dusted some snow from his shirt. "He was already preparing his troops when I got there. He left as soon as I gave the word." She took her staff from his hand and laid it on the ground. "Is everyone safe? Is anyone hurt?"

"Not badly. Come, pet, sit down." She pulled him to the floor next to the queen.

He gave a tired sigh and rubbed his eyes, leaning his head on her shoulder. "This really wasn't the best way to wake up," he mumbled. He let her fingers twine with his the way they fit so perfectly. He didn't care how many people were there, watching them. He loved her, and that was what it was meant to be. "Wifey."

She bumped her crown against his. "Pet." She could feel the gazes itching into them, some wary, some curious, some accusing. But she was his, and if he wanted to hold her hand and lean on her in front of these people, then he could do just that.

It was several days before Balthazar and his army returned, reporting that the enemy army was vanquished, but the kingdom was in ruins. He stated that little of their army remained, and that the few healers left were tending to the wounded in palace. Aurora took the women that were fit to travel, the ones that weren't saddled with children, back to the kingdom, but most returned to the moors with her. They told of who was alive—few. Two of their husbands were confirmed dead, one of whom was young Emma, who resided on their bed to accommodate her large, pregnant belly. None of them were related to the known surviving men.

"Are you sure he's safe with all of them?" one woman questioned Maleficent.

"He'll be fine." She firmly closed the door that separated Diaval and the young children from the mother who had just gone into labor.

The raven man had doubts, though, as one child pulled his ear, one bit his finger, and another yanked his hair. "Children," he mumbled under his breath. He wasn't quite sure what his mate expected him to do. He couldn't see them to play with them. Their whiny voices all sounded the same, so he couldn't even identify them by name.

"Why do you always hold hands with the pretty fairy lady?" one girl asked.

A boy put in, "And why does she always lead you around?"

Alright, questions. As long as they were talking, they weren't biting him. "I hold hands with Maleficent because we're mates, and she has to guide me because I'm blind."

One spouted, "Does that mean you're married to her?" while another cried, "What's blind mean?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, I suppose we're married, in a sense." He grabbed one child's little hand and traced it over his scarred eyelids. "See my scars? I can't see. That's what blind means."

"What's your name, sir?" This voice was a little older than the others, perhaps ten.

"I'm called Diaval. And who are all of you?"

Names were suddenly being flung at him. "Christian!" "Edward!" "Suzy!" "Alice!" "Phil!" "Thomas!"

"Woah, woah, slow down. One at a time, so I can hear your voices." He listened to the kids shift around until he surmised that they formed a half circle around him, and they told him their names politely one at a time. If nothing else, he thought he could remember the order in which they were sitting around him. "Alright, what do you kids want to do?"

Their voices became jabbered together again until one, presumably Christian, quieted them and said, "Can you tell us a story, Sir Diaval?" The others cheered at this brilliant revelation, agreeing that the dark-haired blind man should tell them a tale.

He smiled amiably. "Okay, I'll tell you a story." He mused through the ones that Maleficent often read him, but decided he didn't want to feed the kids lies about princesses in dresses and princes that came to fetch them. He wanted to tell of Hansel and Gretel, but wasn't sure he knew it well enough. But they were waiting for him to speak. "Once upon a time, there lived a very handsome, prideful raven up in the lofty treetops of the moors." Silence greeted him at this pause. They were listening. He continued. "But one day, during the harvest season, he went down onto a scarecrow to gather some food for his mother and brothers. An angry farmer saw him and threw a net over him, and he was trapped. The raven was sure he was going to die; he could see the man coming with a large bat to beat him.

"But then, a beautiful wingless fairy came out of the fields and turned him into a man. The farmer went running home to his family, declaring that he had seen a demon. The raven turned to the fairy and demanded why she had turned him into something as hideous and wingless and dirty as a human."

"What did the fairy say?" one girl—Alice, perhaps?—interrupted.

"She reminded him that she had saved his life, and that he was lucky to be alive. And ravens are nothing if not honorable, so he pledged his servitude to her. But the fairy was very dark, and she had been hurt badly by a man, so she was determined to get revenge on him."

"What did the man do to her?" Thomas breathed, totally riveted.

Diaval frowned. "He took her wings, and he broke her heart." His words elicited a few cries of oh how terrible before he continued, "She had the raven spy on the man and his new family, and when their baby girl was christened, she cursed her. The curse was to take effect on her sixteenth birthday, when she would…" He didn't want to make the girls afraid of spinning wheels, now, did he? "…get a splinter in her forefinger and fall into a sleep like death, from which she would never awaken." He cleared his throat. "But then the man got down on his knees in front of the fairy, and he begged for her forgiveness and for her to take away her curse. She felt pity for him, and she told him that the curse could only be lifted by a true love's kiss."

"A prince came and kissed her awake, didn't he?" Suzy put in, giggling.

"Wait, wait, I'm not that far along yet. And remember, this story is all about the raven." He continued, "The little girl was sent to a cottage in the woods with three pixies to look after her, but they were not equivalent with their task, and the fairy feared that the infant would die before her curse had a chance to take effect. So she sent the raven to care for her with dewy milk-flowers, and the two of them cared for her very much, though neither of them dared to admit it to the other.

"But, when the little girl was eight years old, a farmer carelessly let out his dogs while the raven was watching for her. And dogs do not like ravens at all. They chased him and eventually caught him, and they mauled his face, leaving him with terrible scars across his eyes so he couldn't see anymore."

"Just like you!" Alice chirped.

"Yes, just like me. The fairy, though she admitted it to no one, had come to care for the bird man, and she slaved over his eyes, but there was no magical cure for his blindness, so he had to be guided everywhere they went. He needed help eating and dressing and bathing." He brushed his hair back with his hand and kept talking. "They eventually started to fall in love, but the curse was looming over the little girl's head. The fairy wanted more than anything to revoke her curse, but it couldn't be lifted. But it could be transferred to another person, if she asked it to move."

"Did she move it onto the raven?"

"How mean!"

"She can't move it onto the raven; she's in love with him!"

Diaval patiently waited while Christian scolded the other children into silence. He continued, "Ravens are known for their loyalty to their family, and the raven man wanted more than anything to save the girl he had come to think of as his daughter. So he implored the fairy to transfer the curse onto him instead, so she could live happily ever after with their child." He cleared his throat and wondered how Maleficent's throat didn't get sore from reading out loud so much. "He begged and begged until she finally consented, and the curse was moved to him."

"No!"

"She can't have happily ever after without the raven! She's in _love_ with him!"

He, again, waited for them to hush. "He fell under the curse, and the fairy stayed by his side even though she knew he would never awaken. You see, the fairy didn't believe that love existed, e_spec_ially not true love. She stayed by his bedside, and she fixed his hair the way she knew he liked it. She read him fairytales until her voice grew too hoarse to speak, and she took care of him for two long, grueling years."

"Two_ years!_" someone yelled, as if that was some insurmountable sum of time. He supposed, to a child, it was.

"And she didn't even try to kiss him? Not even once? How daft is this fairy, exactly?"

Diaval laughed at that last bit. "She stayed with him until their daughter was appointed ruler of their kingdom, and she grew very bitter and angry that she had pushed away everyone she loved. She kissed him out of irony, because he had once told her that he thought what they shared was the truest of loves."

"Did he wake up?"

"Yes, he woke up. And can you guess what the first thing he said to her was?" They began to sling phrases around like the trolls slung mud. He used his creative license and waited for them to quiet down before whispering, "He told her she was beautiful."

They went silent before one child murmured, "Her true love's kiss fixed his eyes." The others began to shriek with giggling joy about romance. Then came the questions.

"Did they ever have children?" closely followed by, "What were their names?" and, "Did they live happily ever after?"

He smiled, pleased that his little tale had interested them so well. "They never had children, and they lived very happily ever after together."

The door creaked open, and the wailing of the new babe could be heard. "Diaval, come here, quickly." Maleficent grabbed his arm and dragged him into the room, slamming the door closed behind him. The kids protested his leave, but he was focused on her exhausted voice. That was when he registered the sobbing of several women.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"She's dead." Maleficent touched his warm hands. Hers were cool. "She died. The baby's an orphan now." Her voice was heavy. "No one will take him after this war. These women all want to take their children and get home to whatever lives remain for them. He'll need a caregiver until some more distant family can be located. I was going volunteer, but only if it's alright with you, pet."

He steadied himself with her hands. It was a lot to give an answer to right then and there. Was it alright with him? Hell _no,_ but they couldn't just let a baby die for their own selfish, petty desires. He nodded. "Yes, wifey, it's fine." A smile played at his lips. "I thought we were done caring for other people's babies for them."

She bent her head a bit. "Yes, I thought we were, too." She turned around and barely had time to nod before the disgruntled farmer's wife turned midwife practically threw him at her. The baby, whose cries had briefly quieted, promptly began to wail once again. "Oh gods." She turned to the other grieving women. "What is his name?"

Three of them blinked stupidly from one to the other before the plumpest one put in, "Emma didn't have names planned for a boy. That was their agreement, her and her husband. She picked the name for a girl, he picked the name for a boy."

Maleficent could've groaned, and she also could've slapped them, but did neither. "What was his father's name?" They had volunteered to care for the child, not name him.

"Casimir," one replied promptly.

Two whispered to each other before heading into the children's room. They each gathered their little ones and left without a word to anyone else. Maleficent ignored them. "We'll call him that, then. Does anyone know of where his relatives might be located?"

They looked to each other and shrugged. "I think Emma's mother came from Ulstead, but that was when she was a wee thing, perhaps fifty odd years ago. They were both only-children."

Maleficent's job suddenly got a lot harder. She wasn't prepared to_ mother_ a child; she was prepared to feed a child, and water a child, and shelter a child, but as far as parenting went, she didn't want to keep the baby forever! "Alright. We'll find someone."

After two more days had passed, Emma's body was buried under a weeping willow tree, and the women and their children left. One of the girls clung to Diaval's leg and cried, while her mother snapped at her to stop pestering the blind man before sweeping her up and storming away. Aurora hugged each of them and promised to write, even if she couldn't come there personally to convey news.

Winter chilled them to the bone, and they often spent night cradling the crying baby between them while they huddled for warmth. During the day, when the temperature was closer to bearable, they took turns trying to sleep while the other cared for him. That was, until Diaval fell ill with the flu as he had so many winters ago, and Maleficent didn't sleep for nearly a week trying to care for him and young Casimir.

When the infant had finally quieted into a sleep one day, they collapsed onto the bed side by side. "Why the hell did you volunteer us for this?" Diaval croaked.

"I have not a clue," she moaned.

The wails rose up again. Diaval groaned. "Can we just ignore him until he stops? That's what the pixies did. Surely some pitiable soul will come and decided to take him off of our hands."

"It's your shift," she mumbled, turning to lie on her stomach.

He obediently swung out of bed and approached the crib that she had fashioned with her powers, but not before a knock came at the door. He scooped the baby into his arms and approached the door, swinging it open. "Hello?"

His response came in the form of a punch in the face. He stumbled backward, clutching at his nose with one arm while managing not to drop the baby with the other. "Get your filthy feathers off of my son!" The baby was snatched out of his arms. A swift kick knocked Diaval to the ground. "Where's my woman, you demon?"

Maleficent crossed the room and shoved the offender back. "Who are you?" she snarled.

The man froze, stock still with shock for a moment before recovering, "John Jones," he replied, losing only a bit of his bravado. "Where's my woman?"

Her eyes pierced him. "This isn't your son."

"My pregnant woman came here! Where is she?"

"This boy is orphaned. His father was confirmed dead, and his mother died in this very room. Her name was Emma."

His gaze softened to soft blue pools. "Emma is dead?" he breathed. His eyes slipped down to the infant, who quietened at the stranger's touch. "I knew…I thought we'd have a chance now, now that Casimir was dead, but…" The baby's eyes were exactly like the man's standing before her, and she had no doubt that this was the boy's father. Realizing what he had just revealed, he turned his eyes back to Maleficent. "Please, you can't tell anyone!"

"I am unbothered by the infidelity of humans," she shot back icily. "Now get off my doorstep, and go back to your little hellhole abode." She slammed the door in his face and turned to Diaval, who had managed to stumble to his feet. His nose was a bit bloodied, but he seemed otherwise unhurt. "Are you alright?"

He nodded. "Bastard," he hissed, touching his nose. "Foiling my beautiful self."

She snorted. "Stop complaining. He just saved us from one of the larger mistakes in our lives." She filled the space between them and slid her arms around his neck. Her lips touched his nose, healing it upon contact. "There we go." She kissed his lips. "It's cold in here, pet. I think we could warm things up a little bit." His breath hitched. "What to do you think, pet?" His head began to bob up and down a bit. "Let's warm things up." She nipped his earlobe, and he went stiff as a rail. With gentle but firm hands, she guided him back to their bed, and they swung under the covers together.

The usual panic filled him. "Maleficent, I can't—"

"Hush, hush." She wrapped him in her wings. "Don't be afraid, pet, I've got you." She kissed down his neck, listening to his breath hitch and catch every time she did something he liked. He was always afraid, afraid of the unknown. But after tonight, he wouldn't be afraid anymore. She hiked up her gown and reached to slide his pants down while she sank her teeth into the soft hollow between his shoulder and neck.

"Wifey," he pled, but he didn't know what for. Did he want this? More than anything. But he was so scared. First he was falling. Then he was flying.

And then, breathing heavily, they landed together, each comforted by the other's heavy breaths and touch. And then they slept.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This is the final installment of ETERNITY. I'm already missing writing this. It ends quite suddenly, but I assure you that it is very much complete. And if you don't think it is, write your own damn story :P I jest; I love all my readers. Especially the ones that review *wink wink nudge nudge***

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Aurora named her prince child Philip, after his slain father, and she rebuilt her kingdom. All of their iron was traded for food and clothing for the remainder of their people. With the fall of Sir Seth, the men fought with each other over who would be general of command, before the queen appointed one John Jones. Slowly, their populace began to grow again, and the kingdom flourished once more, though never quite as it had been before. The young queen was soon no longer young, but instead just the queen, and men stopped requesting her hand in marriage as she passed the age to produce children.

Maleficent and Diaval frequently flew to visit her, though the raven would never go anywhere in the sky without her right next to him. She began to once again operate on his eyes—charm after charm, spell after spell, potion after potion, nothing ever worked, but he let her try.

It was a warm summer's day when they stopped at the queen's balcony after receiving word that she was not well. Diaval followed Maleficent's touch into the room, and he knew from the freezing of her muscles that the queen's condition was not well.

The one they once called girl but now called woman was thinner than she had ever been with gray lining parts of her hair, wrinkles crinkling the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her eyes had darkened since she lost Philip, and now they were nearly empty, almost soulless. Her breaths were shallow and slow. "Godmother," she greeted quietly. Her voice was paper thin.

"Beastie." How old was Aurora now? She hadn't noticed the passing of the years, not so quickly. She was immortal. How many years had vanished without her even noticing? She counted back the decades. Sixty-five. Her goddaughter was sixty-five. Wasn't that young for a human? She pushed Diaval to sit on the foot of the bed while she sat nearer the queen's face. "You aren't well."

The empty eyes fluttered at her. Her bony hand latched onto the wrist that was about to perform healing magic. "Don't."

Maleficent's heart nearly stopped. "I can heal you." She blinked quickly, tears budding in her eyes. "Beastie, I can—"

"I'm dying, godmother." Her face lifted into a slight smile. "I'll see him again." Her eyes fell closed. She felt something, someone, clasp her ankle—Diaval, perhaps, but she hadn't seen him come in. "I love you." Tears splashed onto her cheeks. She wished she could wipe them away. "Don't be afraid," she whispered. How long ago was that? A lifetime. An entire lifetime. Her breath exited her lungs, and her heart gave a final beat, and she shuddered into death.

Then there were wails pouring from Maleficent's lungs. She fell to the ground on her knees and pressed her face into the dead queen's chest, and she sobbed brokenly until Diaval patted his way toward her. He fumbled with her shoulder for a moment before stroking her hair. "Wifey?" he whispered. "Wifey dear." He sank down onto the floor next to her and touched her wet cheek.

She slid her hand out of Aurora's cold one and reached for him—_him_, **_him_**, he would have died for her, he took the curse for her, and she was still gone, still lifeless before them. "Pet," she whimpered. She latched onto him and buried her face into his chest. She couldn't move. "Pet." She remembered a time so many years ago when he had professed his love for her, and she had known that she would never be able to intimately return his feelings. But now? Now she was broken, shattered, nothing, and he made her whole enough to stand up.

She couldn't be in that room anymore. Not in that castle with their thick walls, where the maids would soon run up the halls and find the body of their young-but-old queen, and where they would soon report to Prince Philip the son, not Prince Philip the husband, that he was the new king. But she couldn't manage to release her grasp on Diaval. Together, she dragged him out to the balcony, but she didn't change him back to his natural form, instead curling herself around him and spreading her wings.

"Maleficent, this is crazy. You'll hurt yourself." He tried to pull away, but she followed him with her movements.

"Did you ever think that that may be my goal?" She let her nose slide against his. "Do you think I would drop you?"

"I know you would never let such a thing happen."

She looked him up and down, up and down. Her magic had preserved him. But for how long? Would he age, too? Would he die, too? "Then fly with me." His only response was tightening muscles around her. Her wings unfurled and then flapped, easily lifting them both off the ground. He buried his face into her neck. At first, she thought he was trying to hide his fear, but at the wetness that met her flesh, she knew he was trying to hide his tears.

She flew slowly, but they were still back home soon. Neither of them took the bed, instead curling up together in the special place where Diaval had mourned his eyes and where she had mourned Diaval. They were together, mourning together, grieving, crying, touching each other in failed attempts to share comfort. "I thought I saved her," he whispered.

She had no words of comfort to share with him, her pet, her little bird. "I love you, pet." Her voice was broken, so broken, broken into a million tiny little pieces, but he was with her. He was broken, too. But at least they were broken—destroyed, shattered, inconsolable—together. Togetherness was important. Loving a blind bird had taught her that. Loving his sole trusted guide had taught him that. They were together.

* * *

They didn't attend the funeral. Neither of them had tolerance for such celebrations. There was to be a dance afterward commemorating the new king. Neither of them wanted that. So they went several days later. Neither of them spoke to the lump in the ground, because it was just a lump in the ground. Maleficent touched the stone, hoping she would feel some sort of connection with Aurora, but she didn't.

As they walked away, she saw two other stones side by side—John Jones and Casimir Jones. Their death day was the same. The boy had been fifteen. She wondered if he would have lived longer if they had kept him. And she marveled at how short life truly could be.

After their great and terrible tragedy, they spent hours together in silence. It was comfortable, and in it they would be nearer than they ever had before. They awoke, ate, bathed, slept. But nothing was quite as it had been before. They lost track of time. Days mattered no more, not the weeks, not the months, and not even the years. They lived by seasons, but they didn't count them; they just adjusted their lifestyle to them. Rumor had it that King Philip had died, but they never went to confirm it. The humans didn't bother them, and as long as they didn't, there would be peace.

Maleficent took to her whimsy of adding flowers in Diaval's hair, and he didn't mind because he knew it made her smile. She taught his inept fingers to braid her hair, and he would often spend hours doing just that, perfecting his new skill. She tried teaching him to write, but one could not write without reading, and he could not read because he was blind. And she read to him.

One winter morn, after several days of not leaving the palace and not caring to groom because of it, Maleficent pushed Diaval up and took a comb to his disheveled mess of hair and feathers. She delicately pulled it through his tangles, apologizing any time he winced. And that was when she saw it. Her fingers went stock still. The breath in her throat caught, froze, wouldn't move in or out. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move. She could just stare blankly at the streak of silver that made itself prominent in Diaval's dark locks. "No, no, no…" she whispered.

He turned. "Wifey, what's wrong?" He fumbled for a hold about her waist and pulled him near. "Maleficent?" She cried into his chest for reasons he couldn't identify. "What's wrong? What's so terrible about my hair, love?" He tried to tease her, but she didn't respond to his jests. She was dangling from a string and clinging to him, but he had gray hair, which meant he was aging, which meant he would die.

She managed to compose herself, if only a little, and whimpered, "There's a gray streak in your hair, pet. That's really—" She broke off in another choked sob. She couldn't say "That's really all there is," because it was so much more than that.

He held her close to him and rocked her back and forth. "Maleficent, I'm not immortal. Wifey." He tried to calm her down. "Wifey, calm down, I'm not dying." He scratched at the bases of her horns like he always did, and she fell still. "I've got plenty of time left to be with you. It's just a bit of gray hair."

She looked to his face, examined it closely. "But it's not." She traced the small crinkles around his scarred eyes, down by his mouth. "You're aging." She pressed her face into his neck. "And I can't—I can't do this alone, pet, you can't leave me alone!"

"I'm right here," he replied patiently.

And then, she had an idea.

She tore apart all of her charm and spell books, the ones she had scoured countless times for vision repairing spells. There was one spell she could use. There was one spell that could fix this mess. When Diaval questioned her, she simply replied, "I can make you immortal." He fell sullenly silent, and she paid no heed to him until three days later, when she had found the spell.

"Maleficent, have you ever thought to ask what_ I_ wanted?" he asked quietly, staring at his hands in his lap.

She stopped. "What do you mean?" What more could he want than to live forever? Surely he didn't want to die! Surely he didn't want to leave her here all alone! Her heart was falling, falling, the little remnants of it breaking off as she sat on the edge of the bed next to him. "Tell me, love, what is it you want?"

He muddled through a little speech. "I…I have been blind for most of my life, wifey, but I always had hope that…when I died, I would be able to see in the afterlife." He gulped. "I don't know if I want to spend an eternity as a blind man. I fear I'll go mad."

"Diaval…" she whispered. She was shaking. How could she convince him? She didn't _have_ to convince him; she could just force it on him, but she would never do that. Not to him. He had already been cursed once. If that was what he considered this, he didn't deserve for it to happen to him again.

He took her hand. "I'm not saying no, love, I just really need to think about it, okay?" He gave a slight smile. "Forever is a very long time to be crippled."

She curled her wings around him. "You are not crippled, little birdy. You are my precious pet." She kissed his cheek. "And I will love you until the end of time, whether you are by my side or not." She closed all the space between them, and soon they warmed the room with their bare bodies in a lock and key fit, in a familiar and comforting way, as they joined together in love and devotion and passion, in clumsiness on Diaval's part, in fear of losing him on Maleficent's. They were together, unified as mates once more.

When spring's first warm day arrived, they headed to the water hole and bathed and swam together. Diaval preened her sopping wet feathers, and they splashed each other, letting laughs warm the air around them. Laughs, because Diaval had not yet told Maleficent whether or not he wished for immortality, and she wasn't willing to waste a single moment spent with him. After the blind man had some way or another won their tickle war (she admitted it; she was far more ticklish than he, and he knew exactly where her sensitive spots were), they sat on the edge of the water hole, letting their legs dangle in the water.

"Maleficent," he murmured.

She turned to look at him. "Yes, pet?"

He leaned in to her face and brought his lips to hers. "I have decided to accept your offer of immortality," he whispered. His eyes were conflicted, but he smiled at her in a reassuring way. "An afterlife with eyes wouldn't be worth seeing without you there. And I would never, ever hurt you in any way. You deserve whatever forever you desire, and if that forever happens to be so in the literal sense then let it be so."

Their crowns rested against each other. "As long as you're sure, love." He nodded. "Okay." She took each of his hands and let their fingers intertwine tightly. "The book said it is painful. But it is very important that you don't let go of my hands, or the spell will backfire and has the potential to kill us both. Do you understand?"

He tensed, nervous. He didn't want her to risk her life for him. But she wouldn't want him to back out of this just because she was at risk. He squeezed her hands tightly and nodded. "I understand."

Maleficent squeezed his hands back. "Here we go, pet." Her lips began to glow, and she leaned forward to kiss him. She exhaled her gift into him, and a bright agony ripped through her. She feared her hands were going slack, but could do nothing to ensure their grip as she shuddered uncontrollably. Her back arched, trying to escape the pain, and she was vaguely aware of someone screaming and a lower voice giving guttural groans. Just her fingertips were on his now, and she clutched at them. Squeezing, squeezing until she swore she felt bone crack, and then—

It was over. They lay on their sides, facing each other, still completely nude and utterly exhausted. Their hands were still clutched together. She smiled. "Diaval, love? Pet?" she prompted. She didn't dare let go of his hands yet, not until she saw him breathe.

He breathed. "What the _hell_ was that?" he mumbled, eyes still closed tightly. But the crinkles around his face were gone. She dragged herself to him and checked his hair, which was all black and feathered.

"Do you feel alright?"

"I feel like you just pulled me through a volcano of molten lava and then let a herd of horses trample me," he complained.

She sat up and pulled his head into her lap. "Sleep, then, if you want. I'll stay right here." She traced the scars on his chest that hadn't faded.

A smile slipped onto his face, and his obsidian eyes flickered open. She gazed into those sightless eyes, watched them twitch, watched the irises constrict as the pupils tried to focus as they always did and eventually dilated. And in one smooth movement, his mouth was on hers. He blinked once, twice, three times. Then he pulled back, and he whispered to his new eternity, "You are_ so_ beautiful."


End file.
